My husband just bought a new car, saying it would be safer for picking up me and our daughter from now on. Today there was a torrential downpour, so I opened the car company’s app, wanting to turn on the air conditioning for him in advance. But the location wasn’t at his office at all—it was at the City Maternity Hospital. I clicked on the vehicle status and froze. The passenger seat memory had been adjusted to “pregnant woman recline mode.” The rear entertainment screen was playing “Prenatal Music Collection.” And my daughter was standing at the elementary school entrance with a broken umbrella, waiting for him to pick her up. I silently saved the driving route and called an Uber for my daughter. When I got home, my daughter had already finished dinner and was doing homework. The Uber I called arrived half an hour before Brooks did. When he came through the door, he was soaked through, looking exhausted. “Traffic was insane out there. This rain is unreal.” He complained while changing his shoes. “Did you pick up Bonnie?” “Yeah, I called a car for her,” I said flatly. He paused, then put on a guilty expression. “Ah, that’s my fault. The office had a last-minute meeting I couldn’t get out of. Sorry you and the kid had to deal with that.” He walked over to hug me. I stepped aside and handed him a dry towel. “Go take a shower. Don’t catch a cold.” He didn’t notice anything unusual about me and headed to the bathroom with the towel. I picked up his phone. Face recognition unlocked it instantly. At the top were messages from me, our daughter’s class group chat, and the company group. Scrolling down, everything was work-related. I opened his photo album. The recently deleted folder was empty. He was careful, but the car wasn’t. I opened my phone and clicked on the car app. In the vehicle data, there was an energy consumption log. Every trip’s starting point, destination, duration, and power consumption were crystal clear. At 3 PM, departure from his office, destination City Maternity Hospital, stop duration one hour and twenty minutes. Then, departure from the maternity hospital, destination a residential complex I’d never been to. Golden Sky, one of the most upscale developments in the city, twelve thousand dollars per square foot. The car was still parked there. So how did he get home? I zoomed in on the map. Right next to Golden Sky was a subway station. The sound of running water in the bathroom stopped. Brooks came out wrapped in a bathrobe, his hair still dripping. “Honey, come help me dry my hair.” He smiled at me. I walked over and picked up the hairdryer. The warm air blew through his hair and across the skin of his neck. There was a long hair there—not mine. My hair was long, straight, and black. This one was brown and wavy. I didn’t move it. After drying his hair, he went to the study to work overtime, satisfied. I returned to the bedroom and closed the door. I opened our joint bank account. On the 15th of this month, there was a fifty-thousand-dollar withdrawal. Description: Sister’s loan. Brooks was an only child. Where did he get a sister? I scrolled back. Last month on the 15th, fifty thousand. The month before that on the 15th, fifty thousand. This “sister’s loan” had been going on for half a year. Every month, right on schedule. Six months, three hundred thousand dollars. Exactly the price of that car. My hands felt cold. I closed the banking app. I opened Brooks’s Twitter. Three months ago, he’d posted something. “My little sister’s all grown up, coming to the big city to make it. Gotta take good care of her.” The attached photo showed a girl’s silhouette standing at an airport exit, wearing a white dress, pulling a pink suitcase. At the time, I’d even commented below: “Your sister looks beautiful, when are you bringing her home to visit?” He’d replied: “She just got here, she’s shy. I’ll bring her over once she’s settled in.” Looking back now, this was probably that sister. A sister who needed him to drive a three-hundred-thousand-dollar car, adjust it to pregnant woman mode, play prenatal music, and take her for prenatal checkups at the maternity hospital.

The next day, I took half a day off. I didn’t go to Golden Sky. I knew he wouldn’t hide that woman in such an obvious place. Golden Sky was most likely rented or bought by him for convenient meetings. I went to Brooks’s company. The company we’d founded together. Although I was basically semi-retired now, the receptionist and veteran employees still recognized me. “Lester’s here.” “Lester, what brings you in today?” I smiled and nodded in response. I went straight to the finance office. The CFO was someone I’d personally hired. “Betty, I need a favor.” I gave her the name and passport information for Brooks’s “sister.” I’d found this information from the bank transfer records. Payee: Marta. “Help me check if this person has any business dealings with our company, or if she’s related to any employee who submitted expense reimbursements.” Betty was smart. She didn’t ask any questions, just nodded. “Lester, give me a moment.” Half an hour later, Betty placed a file in front of me. “Lester, this Marta interned in our design department for three months last year.” “She didn’t stay after the internship?” Betty shook her head. “At the time, her direct supervisor’s evaluation was that her abilities were mediocre and her attitude flighty. So she wasn’t offered a permanent position.” “Who was her direct supervisor?” “Mark, the design department manager.” I picked up my phone and called Mark directly. I arranged to meet him at the coffee shop downstairs from the office. When Mark saw me, he seemed nervous. “Lester, you wanted to see me?” “Mark, relax. I just want to ask you something. Last year, did you have an intern named Marta?” Mark’s expression immediately became somewhat strange. “Yes… there was someone like that.” “Why wasn’t she given a permanent position?” Mark hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Lester, about this… I wasn’t planning to say anything. This Marta, during her internship, her mind wasn’t on her work at all. Every day she’d dress up to the nines and run to Brooks’s office.” My heart sank. “Brooks said she was a child of some distant relatives, asked me to take care of her. But she… the designs she produced were just sloppy. I called her out on it twice, and she threw the files on my desk, saying I didn’t appreciate them.” Mark sighed. “Then one time, I personally saw… her getting out of Brooks’s car, and on her neck… there were lipstick marks.” The coffee shop’s air conditioning was strong, but I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “Who else knows about this?” “Just a few of us old-timers in the department. Everyone kept quiet out of respect for Brooks. Later when she didn’t get the permanent position, we all thought the matter was over.” Over? No, it had just continued in a more covert way. From company intern to “shy little sister.” I thanked Mark and went back to the office. Betty was still waiting for me. She handed me another file. “Lester, I also checked Brooks’s personal expense reimbursements from the past six months. There are a few that I found… odd.” I took it. One was a five-star hotel dining receipt for thirty-eight thousand dollars. Reason: Important client entertainment. But the receipt date was our daughter’s birthday. That day, Brooks told me a client had a last-minute appointment, he had to entertain them, and came home very late. Our daughter waited for him to cut the cake until she fell asleep. The second one was a purchase record from the Hermès boutique, eighty-six thousand dollars. Reimbursement category: Client gifts. The third was a deposit receipt from an upscale maternity center next to Golden Sky, fifty thousand dollars. Reimbursement category: Company team-building venue reservation. I looked at that maternity center receipt. The customer signature was in Brooks’s handwriting. I gripped the papers in my hand. The edges of the paper dug painfully into my palm. Betty looked at me, concern in her eyes. “Lester, are you…” “I’m fine.” I stood up. “Betty, thank you for today. Please keep this completely confidential.” “You have my word.” I walked out of the office building. The sunlight was blinding. I suddenly remembered that when I got married, I never bought any Hermès. Brooks said those things were an intelligence tax, that the money would be better spent on solid investments. I believed him. I saved money for him, for this family. He took the money we earned together and paid that “intelligence tax” for another woman. Using the company’s name, no less.

I didn’t go home. I took a cab to Golden Sky. The security at the upscale complex was tight. I couldn’t get in. I sat down at a coffee shop across from the complex entrance and ordered an iced Americano. Facing the main gate directly. At 4 PM, a white Porsche Panamera drove into the complex. The driver was a young woman, with big waves in her hair and exquisite makeup. I recognized her—the silhouette of Brooks’s “sister” from his social media. Marta. She was pregnant, her belly already quite prominent, probably six or seven months along. She parked the car, carried several luxury brand shopping bags, and walked into the building entrance with an elegant posture. That Porsche, market price over a million dollars. Brooks’s “sister,” an intern with mediocre abilities and a flighty attitude, driving a million-dollar luxury car, living in a multimillion-dollar mansion. Who would believe it? I sat there until dark. At 7:30, Brooks’s car arrived. He got out, carrying a thermos container. It was the chicken soup I’d prepared for him this morning. He said he’d be working late with the team tonight, asked me to make extra so he could take it to the office for everyone. Now, that thermos had appeared at Golden Sky. He swiped the access card expertly and walked into the building. A few minutes later, a window on the 18th floor lit up. I looked at that window. My phone rang. It was Brooks. “Honey, just finished the meeting, I’m exhausted. What are you doing at home?” His voice carried a hint of laughter, sounding like he was in a good mood. “Getting ready for bed.” “So early? Where’s Bonnie?” “Finished her homework, watching TV.” “Mm, I’ll probably be home late tonight, still have some project details to hammer out. You and Bonnie go to bed early, don’t wait up for me.” “Okay.” I hung up. I looked at the lights on the 18th floor. His project, his team, were all behind that window. I took out my phone and started searching for information on Marta. Her social media name was “Princess Marta,” very fitting for her image. The account was private, but the profile picture wasn’t locked—it was a selfie. The background showed a yacht, sea breeze blowing through her long hair, her smile radiant. Around her neck was a necklace, a Bvlgari charity edition. I had one too. Two years ago on our wedding anniversary, I’d dragged Brooks to buy it. At the time, he said the chain was too thin and small, terrible value. I said it was a gift for our first wedding anniversary, the meaning was different. He couldn’t argue with me, so he bought it. Now, an identical necklace hung around Marta’s neck. I continued scrolling through her profile. Although the content was private, the likes list was public. I saw a familiar avatar—Brooks’s alternate account. He’d told me this account was for gaming, with only a few people on the friends list. He’d liked every single one of Marta’s posts. Following the trail, I clicked into his alternate account’s profile. The photo album was locked, but I could see the cover photo. Two hands, a man’s hand and a woman’s hand. Fingers intertwined, the woman’s hand wearing a huge diamond ring, the size of a pigeon egg. The background was the Eiffel Tower. Date taken: October last year. Last October, Brooks said he was going on a two-week business trip to Europe to research the market. I’d specifically bought him a thick coat, reminding him it was cold there and to dress warmly. Turns out, his “market research” was taking Marta to Paris to buy a diamond ring. I opened Marta’s other social media platform. This account was public, mostly photos of quiet beautiful moments and inspirational quotes. One post from six months ago stood out. “The arrival of new life is heaven’s best gift. Thank you, husband, for giving me a home.” The attached images showed an ultrasound report. And a pregnancy test with two red lines. The first comment was from Brooks’s gaming alternate account. He’d commented two words: “My love.” Followed by a heart emoji. I stared at his comment. He had two wives. One was me—who’d built the company with him from nothing, bore and raised his child, stayed home cooking and keeping house. The other was Marta—young and beautiful, able to satisfy all his vanity, carrying his “son.” I closed my phone. The iced Americano had melted into water. Not cold at all anymore.

The next few days. Picking up my daughter, cooking, handling household chores. Brooks didn’t notice anything unusual. He was even more attentive than before. He’d proactively buy me gifts, saying “you’ve worked hard.” He gave me a lipstick. Probably from some “gifts for your wife that can’t go wrong” list he’d found somewhere. He didn’t know I’d stopped wearing that color long ago. I smiled and accepted it. “Thank you.” He was satisfied. Thinking a three-hundred-dollar lipstick could smooth over all his debts. Behind his back, I met with two people. The first was my college senior Tony, who now ran his own cybersecurity company. I gave him all of Brooks’s and Marta’s social media accounts. “Tony, I need a favor. I need all their chat logs, emails, cloud storage content. Everything.” My senior looked at me. “Lester, this is illegal.” “I know.” I looked at him. “But I’ve been wronged right in my own home. I need to know where I lost.” Tony was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Three days.” The second person was my father. My father was an entrepreneur of the old generation, self-made, lived his whole life upright and honest, hated nothing more than betrayal. Our company was something Brooks and I built together after marriage, but the startup capital came from my father. Five hundred thousand dollars. At the time, Brooks had beaten his chest promising my father: “Don’t worry, I’ll never let Lester down in this lifetime.” My father had designated that five hundred thousand as my premarital property, clearly stating it was a gift to me alone. But when registering the company, Brooks said that husband and wife were one, shares should be 60% his, 40% mine—that way he’d have more face when doing business outside. I loved him then, trusted him. I said okay. Now, he was using that 60% stake to keep a mistress outside, raise an illegitimate child, buy cars and houses. I met my father at the old family estate. I laid everything out. From the car app to the maternity center. My father listened without a word. He smoked half a pack of cigarettes until the study was thick with smoke. Finally, he crushed the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “Lester, what do you want to do?” “Dad, I want to take back everything that belongs to me.” “What about the company?” “The company is something he and I built together. I can’t let him take my life’s work and use it as a dowry for someone else.” My father looked at me, heartache in his eyes. “Alright.” He said just one word. “Dad, I need you to help me contact someone.” “Who?” “Weber.” Weber was my father’s old war buddy who later transferred to the tax system. He was retired now. But I knew his connections and prestige were still intact. My father understood what I meant. “I’ll arrange it.” Three days later, Tony gave me a hard drive. Inside were all of Brooks’s and Marta’s communication records. I spent an entire night reading through everything. Their chats had started two years ago. Back then, Marta was a new intern at the company. Brooks was the high-and-mighty boss. Their conversations were full of the tacit pulling and testing between adults. Marta would send him some suggestive selfies. “Brooks, does this outfit look good today?” Brooks would reply: “Too good, not suitable for the office.” Marta: “Then where is it suitable for?” Brooks: “In my car.” I saw records of their first hotel rendezvous, at a hotel right next to the office. That day, Brooks told me he had to work overtime. I saw the long message Marta sent Brooks after getting pregnant. “Brooks, I’m so scared. I haven’t even graduated yet. I can’t let the child be born without status. Lester is so wonderful, I don’t want to destroy your family. Maybe… I should just abort the baby.” Every word, every sentence talked about “abortion,” but every single word was actually an ultimatum. Brooks’s reply was long. “Marta, don’t be afraid. I’m sorry you have to go through this. Don’t worry, you’re the person I’ve wronged most in this life. She and I have no feelings left, we’re just going through the motions. Once the child is born, I’ll have a showdown with her. The company, the house, the car—everything will belong to us and the child from now on.” I saw the company equity structure diagram he’d sent to Marta. He’d circled his 60% in red pen, with a note beside it: “This will all be my son’s someday.” I saw a draft divorce agreement he’d made, stored in his private cloud. Party A: Brooks. Party B: Lester. Property division: The house we lived in together after marriage goes to me. But I must bear the remaining twenty years of mortgage payments. The eight-year-old BMW Mini in my name goes to me. Custody of our daughter goes to me. He’ll pay three thousand dollars monthly in child support. The company equity, as his premarital investment return, has nothing to do with me. Deposits and investments in his name also have nothing to do with me. He planned to leave me with nothing. He wanted to kick my daughter and me out of the life we’d built together. At the bottom was another note. “Lester has a gentle personality and no opinions of her own. She should sign quickly.” I stared at that line. Gentle personality, no opinions of her own. I put away the hard drive. Then I dialed Weber’s number.

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The Bennets offered 100 million for their biological daughter. I was that daughter, swapped at birth. But I was already dead. A mad scientist dug me up for the money. He warned me: my body was patched together, and even with blood, I’d last 30 days at most. “Don’t blow your cover until we get the cash!” So I played the part. When the fake heiress mocked me as a fool, I nodded eagerly. When my brother sped to scare me, I clutched my face to keep my eyes from popping out. At school, I even “adopted” a human to eat the lunches I couldn’t touch. I lasted until the scientist got the final payment. Then my mother found me, demanding I donate a kidney to my father. I shook my head. She screamed I’d do it whether I wanted to or not. But I had no kidneys left. No liver either. They’d been sold for cash before I died. The intestines, the uterus—rats had eaten those in the sewer. Now, all that remained was a heart that no longer beat. And it felt like that, too, was breaking. 1 “Now listen up, my little revenant, you are Aspen Bennet, Aspen Bennet.” “No skipping, no biting your nails, and for the love of Lucifer, do not detach your head to chase mice, got it?!” “God help me, just let me get this money in peace…” I nodded dutifully at the eccentric scientist before me. He claimed he’d patched me together, resurrected me, and that I was the long-lost Bennet heiress. To secure the hundred-million-dollar reward the Bennets had put out, I absolutely couldn’t reveal I was dead. The problem was, after my resurrection, I was a bit short on brain matter. All my memories from before were gone, and sometimes even the scientist’s words took a while to sink in. Right before we went inside, he clutched my shoulders, doing one last check: “What’s your name?” “Aspen Bennet.” “Alright. Besides not blowing your cover, what else were you supposed to do?” I stared blankly at his face, my shriveled brain slowly whirring. Seconds ticked by. Seeing his growing despair, I lowered my head, a little embarrassed. The scientist sighed in resignation, tapping my skull. “Remember, you must tell your father you want to go to school.” I nodded. “Look, your body can only survive on blood now. There aren’t enough people in the Bennet household, and draining them will get you caught,” he whispered, leaning closer. “At school, pick out young guys. They’re full of vitality, a little loss won’t be noticed. I’ll also sneak around to check on you until I get paid.” Under the scientist’s guidance, I met my “family” without a hitch. He bowed low, his tongue like a silver serpent, engaging them in rapid-fire conversation. His words were too fast for my brain to process, so I settled for observing the three people on the sofa. My brother, Ethan Bennet, scowled, his face etched with disgust, unwilling to even glance my way. My mother’s eyes were sharp, scrutinizing, like a vulture eyeing carrion. My sister, Maya Bennet, however, smiled sweetly at me. To return the gesture, I tried to pull my stiff facial muscles into a smile. But her face instantly went white, her eyes wide as if she’d seen a ghost. I didn’t understand. Was my smile that terrifying? The scientist had even given me special training on facial muscle movements. I tried a few more smiles, but she only cringed closer to Mother. Just as I pondered whether I should stitch my lips shut, the scientist got his first installment and left. He gave me one last look, then abandoned me in this opulent cage. 2 As everyone’s gaze swiveled to me, I nervously fiddled with the hem of my dress. “My name is Aspen Bennet. Hello.” Silence hung heavy for a few seconds. My father was the first to speak. He sat upright at the head of the table, sizing me up. “Good to have you back. How have you been these past years out there?” I paused, looking down at my crisscrossing suture lines and gray skin. By human standards, it definitely wasn’t “good.” So I looked up, answering earnestly, “Can’t you tell? I feel very unwell.” Father choked on his words. Mother quickly smoothed things over. “It’s nothing. Now that you’re back, you’ll recover just fine.” Father remained silent, clearly displeased with my blunt words. Finally, Maya broke the awkwardness. She smiled, leaning closer, her tone innocent. “Aspen, did you… not finish your makeup today? It looks like it’s flaking off. Did you buy some cheap makeup from a street vendor just to come home?” At her words, everyone’s eyes fixated on my face. Only then did they notice the thick, wall-paint-like layer of foundation – applied by the scientist to cover my cadaveric spots. As they stared, my brain stuttered. “This… this is my… my…” From sheer nerves, my jaw joint felt a bit loose. My brother scoffed, slowly enunciating four words: “Attention-seeking trash.” Seeing me silent with my head down, Maya continued her attack in a sweet voice. “Don’t panic, Aspen. It’s normal not to have experience with makeup at first. Oh, and seeing how you’re dressed, have you ever been to school? What did you do at home? You didn’t get married in some hick town, did you?” Her questions came too fast. I hadn’t even processed the last one before the next wave hit. What do normal humans do at home? I’d only climbed out of the dirt two days ago; I’d been sleeping in a coffin! Seeing my blank stare, Maya’s smile widened. She covered her mouth, whispering to Mother, “Mom, do you think Aspen is… well, a bit slow? She doesn’t seem to understand anything.” At that, my eyes lit up. I looked at Maya, genuinely grateful. “You’re so smart! How did you know?” I stepped closer, praising her sincerely. “I really don’t understand anything. You’re amazing, you can say so much all by yourself. Your tongue is so nimble!” Even though I was praising her, her lips twisted downward, her eyes narrowing as if she wanted to devour me. I felt a pang of confusion. “Maya, are you upset? Then I apologize. I’m sorry.” Maya’s face was ashen. “Aspen, stop playing games!” “Enough!” Father finally spoke, his voice laced with annoyance and impatience. “What’s all this racket? Aspen, go with the butler to the room on the second floor and settle in.” 3 Watching Father turn to leave, something suddenly flickered in my mind. Right, the scientist’s instructions! I quickly tapped my head and declared loudly, “I want to go to school.” Seeing no reaction, I repeated, “I need to go to school. Can I?” Maya scoffed, and Ethan stared at me as if I were refuse. “You, a simpleton who barely knows her ABCs, want to go make a fool of yourself?” Father frowned. “The money the Bennet family gives you will last you a lifetime. Don’t go out there and embarrass me.” I shook my head, my stiff neck unwavering. “No, I have to go.” Father suppressed his anger. “Why?” I faltered, racking my brain for the reason the scientist had given me, then answered precisely, “Because I need to find men.” The moment the words left my mouth, the living room fell into a deathly silence. Ethan clicked his tongue, his face full of scorn. “Looks dumb, but deep down she knows how to reel in a rich kid.” Father took a deep breath, his gaze on me like I was some incurable, filthy thing. But he couldn’t be bothered to argue further, waving his hand in agreement. Mission accomplished! I happily followed the butler upstairs. The room was small, shaded, damp, and gloomy – absolutely perfect! This environment would perfectly slow down the decay of my flesh. I excitedly spun around. No flies, no carrion beetles. Excellent, no worries about being nibbled on. The butler entered, carrying my dinner. Seeing me staring blankly at a corner, he said coldly, “Miss Bennet, Madam has instructed that since you’ve just returned and haven’t learned your manners, you needn’t come downstairs for meals. Dinner will be brought to your room.” “How thoughtful!” I exclaimed sincerely. But looking at the elegant stir-fry on the plate, I looked up at the butler. “The food is lovely, but I don’t eat at night. You can take this away, and you don’t need to send it up anymore. I’ve brought my own.” The butler’s face darkened. “Miss Bennet, you should know your place. You are not like Miss Maya. Why resort to a hunger strike to spite yourself?” I stared at his face, utterly bewildered. Why was he angry? I genuinely didn’t need to eat. If I put it in my stomach, it wouldn’t digest and would just start to rot. After much thought, I realized I’d forgotten to make an expression. The scientist said, a smile always works. So I forced my lips into a wide, unnatural grin, then chirped, “Thank you for your concern, but I know my body best. You can take it away~” My frozen smile was met with the butler recoiling slightly, then gritting his teeth. “Fine. If Miss Bennet doesn’t need it, we won’t send it up again. Don’t you dare regret it!” Watching his hasty retreat, I let my stretched smile drop, rubbing my aching facial muscles. Humans are so hard to understand. Never mind, I thought. No need for internal conflict for a corpse. 4 The next day, the chauffeur dropped me off at the gates of the elite high school. Maya had given me a sugary reminder before she left, telling me to “remember my place.” I understood perfectly – my place was to be a pseudo-human blending into school to feed. So in class, I mimicked everything: my desk-mate napped during breaks, so did I; he sighed during exams, so did I. My desk-mate got 28 on the math test; I got 23. Our homeroom teacher called my desk-mate (his name was Darcy) and me out into the hallway. I nervously rubbed my ashen fingers. Such low scores – would they find out I had no brainwaves? The teacher’s finger tapped the test papers with a loud thwack, spittle flying. “Aspen Bennet, Darcy Vance! Are you even human?! Can normal people score this low with their eyes closed?!” My heart lurched. They’ve seen through me! Darcy scratched his head, looking utterly unbothered. “Sir, if I don’t know it, I don’t know it. Worst case, I’ll go home and learn auto repair with my dad.” The teacher clutched his chest, furious, then glared at me. “What about you?! If you don’t work hard now, are you going to live on thin air later?!” Under his furious gaze, I opened my mouth, answering honestly, “Sir, I can indeed live on thin air.” The teacher nearly fainted, pointing at Darcy. “Get out of here! Aspen, you stay!” Darcy winked at me as he slipped away, as if to say, “You’re toast.” The teacher berated me for an entire break. By the time I returned to my seat, I felt like what little vitality this corpse possessed had been completely drained. To regain some energy, I poked Darcy, who was slumped on his desk. “Desk-mate, can I… take a little sip?” Darcy’s eyes were closed, half his face buried in his arms. “What do you want?” I leaned my head close to his neck, inhaling the fresh, pulsating scent of blood, and swallowed. “Blood.” Darcy scoffed, “Creep,” then dramatically turned his head away and went back to sleep. I looked at his unguarded nape and carefully leaned in. The scientist had modified my canines for easier feeding. While Darcy slept soundly, I gently pierced his skin and took a small sip. Sweet, warm blood flowed into my parched throat, but I still felt so hungry. A tiny bit of blood wasn’t enough to sustain a whole day’s expenditure. At noon, I had no choice but to go to the cafeteria.

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The topping-out ceremony for the commercial high-rise was just around the corner, when I suddenly realized the blueprint dimensions were all wrong. Demolishing and rebuilding would cost a cool ten billion. I clung to the rooftop railing, contemplating which spot on the ground would offer the least pain. But then, Manager Walter, flanked by his engineering team, kicked my door open: “At this critical juncture of the project, you, the chief designer, have been skipping out every day to fool around with escorts!” “And those blueprints? They’re just stolen copies of mine!” “You’re fired! I’m the new head of this project, and all design patents are now mine!” My eyes widened, and the despair in my heart instantly morphed into wild joy. Oh, right, I was totally busy with dates all this time. The wrong dimensions? Not my problem in the slightest! 1 The twenty-story commercial high-rise was almost topped out, and I was giving the blueprints one final check. My hand trembled, spilling coffee all over the desk. Because I’d just discovered that the dimensions for every single load-bearing wall were wrong! My heart pounded in my chest. I wiped my eyes, checked it twenty more times, and then, with a sigh, surrendered to the truth. Yep, definitely wrong! This twenty-story commercial building, from design to construction, and even the future investment and leasing, had cost a staggering ten billion dollars. If we had to tear it down and rebuild, I wouldn’t be able to pay it back if I sold myself eight hundred times over. I squatted on my chair, clutching my head, wanting to cry but no tears came. Wanting to scream but no sound escaped. As a celebrated architectural designer in the country, My work had won numerous international awards, earned investors billions, and left iconic landmarks in this city. But what did that matter now? I had failed, defeated by a load-bearing wall with an error of just a few inches. My parents were counting on me for their retirement, and my sister was about to take her college entrance exams. She always said her big brother was her pride. But this one mistake, my blunder, would bring devastating consequences down on them. I truly deserved to die! I was a sinner, having squandered everyone’s hard work, and condemned myself to eternal damnation. After much thought, I finally stood up, pushed open the door to the rooftop, and walked to the railing. Twenty stories. High enough. The people below looked like tiny ants. I pondered which side to jump from, to avoid scaring anyone while suffering as little as possible. Suddenly, the door behind me burst open with a loud bang. My arch-rival, Walter Stone, marched in with a whole team of people. “Arthur Lynn! You’ve really outdone yourself!” He stormed up to me, his voice a furious torrent. I froze, thinking he’d discovered the design flaw. Just as I was about to explain, he slapped a stack of photos right into my face. “Have you no shame? At this critical stage of the project, you, the chief designer, have been sneaking off every day to cavort with those cheap massage parlor girls!” I was confused, picking up a few photos from the floor. They showed a man and a woman, in various suggestive poses. The man was me, but I didn’t recognize the woman. Still, I instantly knew these images were all AI-generated. Because these past few months, desperate to finish the project, I hadn’t slept for days, having no time to go anywhere. I frowned and tried to reason with him. “Walter Stone, you must have the wrong person. Don’t make such baseless accusations!” But he sneered: “Don’t play innocent!” “Your design blueprints are just stolen copies of mine!” “You’re fired! And all design patents for this project are now mine!” He pulled out a draft blueprint, identical to mine, even down to the exact dimensions of the load-bearing walls. But in the designer’s section, his name was written. I looked and looked, thought and thought. Suddenly, in that hopeless abyss, I caught a faint scent of hope. 2 Walter smiled, looking at me: “Arthur Lynn, you’re a fraud! A scumbag like you doesn’t deserve to lead this project!” “I’ve already spoken to the investors. They want you out immediately!” I was silent for a moment, then slowly spoke: “I poured my heart and soul into this project. What right do you have to kick me out?” Walter’s grin widened. He deliberately patted my face, his voice dripping with condescension: “The right of your plagiarism, your dereliction of duty, and the fact that I am now the overall head of this project!” As he finished, his phone buzzed. It was an internal company email, copied to all employees. It stated: Project Lead for “Skyline Pinnacle” Commercial High-Rise changed to Walter Stone. Arthur Lynn is terminated for unprofessional conduct and plagiarism of core designs. Arthur Lynn will have no further association with the “Skyline Pinnacle” project. Normally, a project nearing completion wouldn’t change its lead. It was like tending a field for a year, only for the land to change owners just before harvest. No one would be happy about that. But I was different. I desperately wanted to sever all ties with this project. I called Chairman Goodwin, but he didn’t pick up. Then I called President Foster. The moment he answered, I heard him erupt in a furious shout: “Arthur Lynn, you’re fired! You have nothing to do with this commercial high-rise project anymore!” He hung up. When I tried to call back, he had already blocked my number. Walter watched me, relishing my misfortune: “See? Does anyone still care about you?” He pulled out a document: “Arthur, be smart. Sign this and get lost.” “Otherwise, I’ll not only ruin your reputation, but I’ll also expose your dirty little secrets to your sister. Let her see what kind of a lowlife her ‘good brother’ really is.” My hands trembled as I picked up the document, my eyes instantly welling up. Not with sadness, but with exhilaration. Because that document contained a joint statement. Arthur Lynn has no connection whatsoever to the “Skyline Pinnacle” Commercial High-Rise project. All architectural design patents and construction advice are unrelated to him. My heart was bursting with joy, but I dared not show it on my face. 3 “Slander! This is pure slander! Walter, you say I’ve been fooling around with escorts every day, do you have any proof?” My eyes were bloodshot, my whole body shaking. Walter glanced at his phone, a smug smile playing on his lips: “Proof? It’s right there in your office.” A whole crew of them marched back to my office. Pushing open the door, I froze. A young woman in a revealing outfit was sitting in my chair. Seeing me, she immediately pounced and clung to my arm. “Mr. Lynn! You have to take responsibility for me!” I yanked my arm away from her: “Who are you? I don’t even know you!” The woman’s eyes reddened, and she latched back onto me: “How can you be like this? For the past six months, you’ve been coming to me every day, saying you couldn’t live without me. Now that the project is almost finished, you’re just going to turn your back on me?” Many colleagues started pointing and whispering about me. “Mr. Lynn always seemed so proper. Can’t believe he’s into that kind of thing.” “I knew that design wasn’t his style. Turns out it was Walter’s all along.” “They called him a genius designer? I say he’s nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down: “I’ve been working overtime in this office for the past six months. There are cameras everywhere. How could I possibly be going out to see you every day?” Walter laughed, slowly pulling out his phone: “Didn’t you know? The surveillance on this floor has been broken for ages.” I blurted out, “Impossible!” “I checked the surveillance footage last week to find some files. It was working perfectly.” Walter shrugged: “Don’t believe me? Call and ask right now.” I immediately dialed the security office. “Hey, Old Brown, are the surveillance videos from the last three months still available?” “Oh, Mr. Lynn, all the videos have been deleted, and the hard drives formatted.” My hand trembled slightly: “Even if they’re deleted, what about the logs? They can still be recovered within seven days, right?” The sound of furious typing came from the other end of the line. After a moment of silence, the voice returned: “No, Mr. Lynn. The system shows the logs were completely overwritten. Even the past seven days can’t be recovered.” I hung up, and Walter’s laughter grew even more unrestrained: “Hear that? You haven’t shown up for work for the past six months. There’s no record of you in the surveillance footage.” I stared at him, saying each word deliberately: “Even without surveillance, the documents I signed can’t be faked. Every design change order, every material confirmation sheet—aren’t they all signed by me?” Walter clapped his hands: “Right, you mentioned it, and I almost forgot.” He turned and walked to the file cabinet in the corner, pulling open the bottom drawer. A murky mess of black stuff floated in water, completely unrecognizable. “Tsk, tsk. What a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? The water pipe burst last week, and all the files in that cabinet got soaked.” Walter shook his head regretfully. All the drawers in my office had keys, yet Walter had opened them with ease. I glanced at Michael, my secretary, who immediately looked away, guilty. I clenched my fists, my nails almost digging into my flesh. It was too damn coincidental. So coincidental that every step was planned, so coincidental that even the water damage was precisely placed. They had plotted this all along, but alas, they were too clever for their own good. The strange woman leaned in again, reaching for me: “Mr. Lynn, you can’t just disown me now. My belly might be carrying…” “Get out!” I roared, and the entire floor fell silent. The woman recoiled two steps, startled, and Walter’s expression shifted. 4 I looked at a familiar figure in the crowd. “Michael, come here.” Michael Lee had been with me since his first day at the company. Back then, he couldn’t even read blueprints. I taught him CAD firsthand, and I stayed up late guiding him through design revisions. He was careless and once lost client files, and it was me who cleaned up his mess. He slowly walked to my side, but wouldn’t look up at me. Walter recovered, putting on his usual smirking face: “Perfect, Michael. Tell everyone, has Mr. Lynn been doing his job these past six months?” Michael kept his head down: “Mr. Lynn wasn’t often in the office.” I stared at him, incredulous: “What did you say?” He glanced at me, then continued: “There were a few times I went to find him for a signature, and he wasn’t there. Later, I saw one of Walter’s blueprints on his desk.” “I even asked him about it at the time, and he said he was just ‘referencing’ it. I never thought he was outright plagiarizing.” A murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. I laughed, tears streaming down my face. “Michael Lee, I taught you for three years. Is this how you repay me?” He finally looked up, his eyes red. But his words were sharper than ever: “Arthur, I can’t lie against my conscience.” “That design was completely copied from Walter. I saw it with my own eyes.” “And for this entire period, you weren’t in the office. All the company’s work was held up by Walter alone.” Walter patted his shoulder, a show of false concern: “Alright, Michael, you’re just speaking the truth. No need to feel guilty.” I looked at the two of them, a bitter laugh escaping me: “Fine, excellent! You’re really good at throwing people under the bus!” “You, and you, all of you, remember this moment!” No one took my words seriously. Michael even seemed relieved, thinking I was just making empty threats. Walter once again slammed the agreement in front of me. “Sign it, quickly.” I picked up the agreement and publicly read out the most crucial line: “Arthur Lynn has no connection whatsoever to the ‘Skyline Pinnacle’ Commercial High-Rise project. All architectural design and construction advice are completely unrelated to him.” “Walter, think carefully about the consequences. If this project has problems in the future, you’ll be solely responsible. Are you sure you want me to sign this?” Walter’s eyes flickered, as if in thought. Michael, beside him, urged him on: “Manager Walter, he’s just trying to provoke you. Besides, the project’s almost done. What could possibly go wrong?” Walter nodded in agreement, then looked at me: “Stop talking nonsense, sign it!” With red eyes and a heavy heart, I scrawled my name. Two copies. I pocketed my copy, my face grim. Then I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard Walter’s triumphant voice: “Arthur Lynn, you’re nothing special, are you?” I stopped, turned back, and looked at him: “Don’t celebrate too soon!” “When the good times end, the bad times begin. Don’t come crying to me then!”

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At 3 AM, I was suddenly woken up by a call from building management. Opening my phone, I saw someone had tagged me in the residents’ group chat. [Unit 1601, have you no shame? Screaming every night at this hour, afraid no one knows you’re making babies, are you?!] [My daughter just started college, and now you’ve made her precocious.] [If you dare to scream again, I’ll go live from my apartment and let everyone know how shameless you are!] The neighbor downstairs kept yelling at me, and other residents chimed in, saying my screams disturbed them. But I wasn’t even home! Considering the possibility of my husband’s infidelity, I quickly turned on the bedroom monitor. The moment I saw the woman in the bed clearly, I smiled. Isn’t that the college-aged daughter from downstairs? 1 After a week of back-to-back meetings out of town, all I wanted was to get home and catch up on sleep. At three in the morning, the driver had just gotten onto the highway. Lying in the back seat, I was jolted awake by an unexpected call from building management. Opening the residents’ group chat, I saw it was Helen Carter downstairs making a fuss again. Ever since she moved in below me, she’d either complain about our heavy footsteps disturbing her sleep, or about our frequent guests making the elevator pass her unit too often. She’d tagged me countless times over minor and major issues. Seeing her latest accusation was completely baseless, I initially didn’t plan to respond. But neighbors who usually stayed quiet in the chat also chimed in. [Everyone understands these things, but the noise is too loud. It’s really disruptive, 1601, you should be more careful.] [This is a school district. Everyone has underage kids. Yesterday, my son also asked me what that noise was. It’s really hard to explain.] Seeing everyone’s comments, I was bewildered. If only Helen had heard it, she might be deliberately causing trouble. But I didn’t have conflicts with other neighbors normally, so they had no reason to falsely accuse me. Perhaps they mistook noise from another unit for coming from mine. Thinking this, I sent a screenshot of my meeting records from out of town last night and my current location to the group. “I haven’t been home for the past two days. You must have the wrong person.” After I explained, the group fell silent. Five minutes later, Helen sent a scornful voice message. [I pressed my ear against the door, and the sound definitely came from your unit. If not you, then who?] My heart sank, and I quickly considered the possibility of my husband’s infidelity. But we’d known each other since high school, endured a difficult long-distance relationship through college, and built everything we had today together through our joint venture. After so many years of marriage, I really couldn’t believe he would cheat. Another neighbor tagged me in the chat, [1601, we know your husband has stamina, but can you please keep it down!] I gripped my trembling hand, typing a reply in the group. “I’m not home. Please wait, I’m checking the surveillance.” My best friend had convinced me to secretly install cameras in the bedroom. She said our assets were substantial now, and I traveled frequently, so divorce might be inevitable someday. If my husband cheated first, the cameras might capture evidence. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. But now, I actually saw my husband and another woman in the surveillance footage! The woman happened to turn her head. The moment I saw her, I froze. Isn’t that Helen Carter’s college-aged daughter?! 2 I stared at the screen in disbelief, my body shaking uncontrollably. At that moment, I knew for sure that the man who had struggled alongside me had cheated. And I didn’t even know when he had gotten involved with his mistress. Helen’s angry messages continued to flood the group. I was furious and resentful, but I also knew that the most urgent thing wasn’t to retaliate, but to preserve evidence and catch them in the act! Over the years, my husband Mark and I had accumulated tens of millions in shared assets. Since he was the one who cheated first, I was determined to take as much money as possible during the divorce. I quickly contacted my best friend, who was a lawyer. Upon learning of Mark’s infidelity, she cursed him a few times, then asked, “How long until you get home?” I looked up at the driver. He had already sensed that something was wrong from my conversation with my best friend, and had significantly increased the car’s speed. He turned back and told me, “Two hours.” My best friend immediately began contacting a private investigator to help me gather evidence. She also cautioned me not to tip them off before I got home. If people in the community decided to knock on my door, I should incite them to go together in the group chat, ensuring there would be witnesses. Before hanging up, she said: “Anna, be careful on the road. Don’t let yourself get sick over a man who isn’t worth it.” From the moment I discovered Mark’s infidelity, I had only felt surprise and anger. But after seeing my best friend’s message, tears still stubbornly fell onto my phone. No time to dwell on my past with Mark, Helen, seeing that I wasn’t responding, initiated a group voice call. I casually hung up. Helen continued to post in the group. [Oh, so you can see the group messages. Why are you silent then?] [Are you pretending to be a victim who just found out her husband cheated?] [I saw your car this afternoon. You’re home. Now you’re afraid to admit it?] [You were so loud when you were screaming, now you’re ashamed?] I explained again that I was indeed on the highway and wouldn’t be home for another hour and a half. Helen still didn’t believe me. [If that woman upstairs really isn’t you, I’ll not only apologize to you publicly, but I’ll personally help you catch them, and smash that mistress’s face in!] I seized the opportunity, following Helen’s words, and said: “Then I’m afraid I’ll really have to trouble you, Helen, to smash that mistress’s face in.” “I saw on the monitor that those animals are sleeping right now.” “I’ll be home in an hour and a half. Please don’t alert them yet. When I get to the complex, I’d appreciate it if any neighbors who are awake would come with me to catch them in the act and help me seek justice!” The people in the group just wanted to watch the drama; no one really wanted to get involved in this messy situation. When I invited them to catch the cheaters, the group instantly fell silent. Only Helen was still cursing me. [You bitch, for sympathy, you’re denying this, even ruining your own husband’s reputation!] [Others don’t know you, but I do!] [When my house was being renovated, you pretended to be sick and said you needed to sleep, telling the workers to be quiet, which delayed my move-in by a month!] [Later, you hit and killed my dog with your car, but stubbornly claimed you had a leg injury and weren’t driving at all.] [You sly manipulative woman, this time I’ll make you pay!] I remembered both incidents Helen mentioned. Because this complex was close to my company, I was one of the first residents to move in. At the time, many people were indeed still renovating. Everyone renovated during the day, but Helen, wanting to supervise herself, insisted on having workers only after working hours. I approached Helen to discuss this several times, but she would just sneer after sizing up my clothes. “How would a pampered wife like you know how much we’ve sacrificed for this apartment? Of course, I need to supervise the renovation carefully. If it’s too noisy, go stay in a hotel!” At the time, I was running a high fever and didn’t have the energy to argue with her, so I called the police directly. Helen then began renovating during the day, but after moving in, she felt I had delayed her renovation progress and demanded 100,000 in compensation for emotional distress. I completely ignored her. But a month later, as I was driving out, her daughter, walking her dog, ran directly towards my car. Even though I slammed on the brakes, I still hit the dog, and it died instantly. Helen and my husband both rushed to the scene. Helen hysterically claimed the dog was part of their family and demanded 200,000 in compensation. I insisted on legal procedures, and my husband immediately called the police. When the police questioned Helen’s daughter, she was so frightened she just cried, and ultimately the dashcam proved my innocence. Out of humanitarianism, I paid 50,000. Helen grumbled her dissatisfaction, cursing that I would definitely get my comeuppance. My husband silently watched the distant Clara Doyle. That, I believe, must have been their first meeting. And now, they were lying in the same bed. 3 I didn’t rush to explain the truth in the group chat, but quickly relayed my new discovery to my best friend. “Clara Doyle and Mark likely started communicating after I hit that dog.” My best friend, armed with the private investigator’s findings, helped me trace Mark’s infidelity timeline. March 10, 2025: Mark first met Clara Doyle. June 23: Clara Doyle, claiming her water heater was broken, went upstairs to Mark’s apartment for a shower while I was away. August 15: The two entered a hotel together, one after the other. As of today, nearly seven months later, they had met 53 times, and Mark had spent two million from our joint account on her. The wedding apartment my parents gave me before marriage had become their secret rendezvous spot. My hands trembled with anger. Helen’s messages continued to flood the group. [This Anna Gu is the worst. She loves to play the innocent victim. Being her neighbor is truly bad luck!] [Good thing none of you with kids live too close to her, otherwise, if a child cries at night, she might just fabricate a heart condition and claim the child’s noise caused a relapse!] [Unlike me, I painstakingly raised my daughter for twenty years. She’s sweet and sensible, and blushes even seeing people kiss, yet she has to listen to her screaming every night upstairs!] [If she corrupts my innocent daughter, I swear I won’t live!] The word ‘innocent’ was particularly jarring. I immediately screenshot my home monitor and sent it to the group. In the image, Mark was asleep, embracing a woman. But because the image was blurry, Helen couldn’t recognize it as Clara Doyle, and started yelling at me. [Anna Gu, you are truly shameless. Why are you sending photos of you and your husband sleeping to the group chat!] [Don’t you know there might be minors in this group!] I sent a video of myself on the highway to the group, explaining, “I’m on the highway, I’ll be home in forty minutes. The monitor footage is live. How many times do I have to tell you, the woman screaming in my house is not me!” Seeing my anger, people in the group started trying to calm Helen down, saying it might really be a misunderstanding. Helen, however, remained defiant. [Just look at Anna Gu’s manipulative act. If I had really wronged her, she would have cried and called the police by now!] [I didn’t mean to be aggressive. As long as she promises not to be so loud in the future and compensates my daughter with 300,000 for emotional distress, this matter will be over.] Seeing the messages in the group, I couldn’t help but sneer. No wonder she reacted so strongly in the group today! She thought she’d caught me making a mistake and wanted to extort money from me! She demanded 100,000 during the renovation, and 200,000 when I hit her dog. She called me a pampered wife supported by my husband, but in her heart, she coveted my money. I could no longer contain my fury and sent a voice message directly to the group: “Helen, let’s not even talk about the woman upstairs not being me. Even if it were, your current actions are extortion!” Helen was not to be outdone. [I’m spreading rumors about you? My voice is hoarse from screaming, and you’re still defiant!] [I’m just asking if you’re going to pay for the emotional damages!] I replied directly: “I know you’re jealous of my money, but my money was earned through hard work. Even if I donate it, I wouldn’t give a single penny to someone like you who spreads rumors about me!” “And in this matter, I am also a victim!” [Pfft, my daughter is the victim!] [Since you won’t accept my kindness, don’t blame me for seeking justice for my daughter!] 4 After Helen finished speaking, she immediately shared a live stream link in the group. Clicking on it, I realized the person streaming was Helen herself. In the live stream, she was tearfully complaining that I screamed every day, causing her daughter to become precocious. She claimed her daughter was almost tricked into going to a nightclub to accompany men because of me. And when she tried to complain about me in the group to get justice for her daughter, she was accused of extortion. Helen cried hysterically, like a desperate, loving mother trying to protect her child. Unknowing viewers in the live stream immediately became enraged, rushing to support Helen. [Why bother talking so much to a bitch like that? Just kick her out of the complex and make her compensate you all with her apartment!] [To put it nicely, this woman might be a kept woman by her husband, but in reality, she could also be a mistress. I suggest the streamer expose her identity. If she’s really a mistress, it’ll be easier to deal with!] Helen pretended to accidentally leak my information in the live stream. In just five minutes, all my information was dug up, and my company received thousands of complaints overnight! The client with whom I had been negotiating a collaboration for a week, upon seeing the news, decided to terminate the agreement. My employees’ calls kept coming in, asking what was happening and how the company should handle public relations. “Save all evidence. Have legal prepare for a lawsuit.” After replying to my employees’ messages, I rushed to call each client back to explain, with no time to deal with the online outrage. After contacting all the clients, The car finally stopped at the entrance of the complex. My best friend said the timeline evidence for Mark’s infidelity was ready. Taking a deep breath, I looked at the dimly lit morning sky outside, and sent a message to the group. “I know everyone is enjoying the show. I’m downstairs at the complex now. If you’re awake, come with me to catch them in the act.” I opened the car door and stepped out, looking up at my apartment building. Many people were peering down. Helen, clutching her phone for the live stream, rushed down first. Pointing the phone at my face, she told her viewers: “This bitch must have sneaked out of her apartment while I wasn’t looking, deliberately creating the illusion that she wasn’t home!” “Now her place is definitely empty. She’ll open the door and claim I falsely accused her, but she doesn’t know I’ve recorded her screams!” Seeing many neighbors had gathered, I gave a cold smile. “I checked the monitor. Those animals are still inside. We won’t come up empty-handed.” “Now, I’m taking everyone upstairs to catch them in the act!”

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After Women’s Day, my CEO wife created a “Men’s Day” and gave every male employee a gaming keyboard—except me. I overheard colleagues in the break room: “She set this up just for her boyfriend Liam. Even bought him a high-end gaming PC.” “He keeps bothering the CEO. No wonder she’s avoiding him.” I remembered the flashy setup the intern Noah got this morning. Amy never gave me a gift, not even on anniversaries. Lately, she’s been distant, only talking about work worries. I turned down Gray Corp’s offer to help her startup, worked tirelessly, even agreed to a secret marriage. All I got was her silence during rumors and clear favoritism toward the intern. Holding the hard drive with the latest tech, I called Gray Corp. “Deal. Technology for equity.” … A few seconds of silence, then Hannah Gray, known as the “tech industry’s Iron Lady,” couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice. “Charles, don’t worry. I guarantee your decision will be the best choice you’ve ever made! Tomorrow’s Eastern Pacific tender, with your technology, we’re set!” As soon as I agreed, the phone in my hand was snatched away. I turned to meet Amy Quinn’s cold gaze, a group of gloating employees standing behind her. She ended my call without a glance, her tone icy. “It’s just a keyboard. As a tech lead, do you really need to make a scene at HR? If word gets out, people will think Noah is deliberately making things difficult for you. Where would that leave him?” A bitter smile played on my lips— I hadn’t even reached HR, and she was already so worried about Noah. But for the past year, in the eyes of colleagues, I’d become a lecherous man destroying her and her boyfriend’s relationship, with vicious rumors flying everywhere, yet she acted deaf and ignored it all. Seeing the boss angry, the others naturally understood and joined in with harsh words. “Manager Gray, being an old bachelor, probably never received a keyboard before. Is that why he’s so sensitive?” “Are home-wreckers always this shameless? Ms. Quinn tried to avoid you and not give you a keyboard, but you still insisted on coming over!” “Men’s Day, as the name suggests, is for young, handsome guys like Noah and us. What’s an old fossil like you even thinking?” Every word pierced me like an arrow. Amy Quinn’s face, however, showed no ripple of emotion— I instantly understood that they were probably her mouthpieces, which was why she was so calm. I trembled with anger, looking coldly at this woman I’d been married to for seven years. “I am also a male employee of the company. Is there a problem with me fighting for the benefits I’m entitled to?” Seeing my eyes redden, a flicker of emotion finally crossed Amy Quinn’s face, and she sighed lightly. “If you want—” Noah Dubois suddenly appeared, clutching the gaming rig, and interrupted her, sobbing. “Manager Gray, it’s my fault. As an intern, I don’t deserve this! If you like it, take it. Please don’t use your managerial position to pressure me. I’m really scared!” His few close colleagues in the company also stepped forward, complaining passive-aggressively. “This morning, as soon as Noah received the keyboard, Manager Gray made him print hundreds of pages of garbled files within an hour. Noah stood by the printer until his back was breaking, but what came out was clearly useless paper that no one would read. Isn’t this blatant workplace bullying?” Amy Quinn saw the pile of half-printed documents on the desk, and that hint of emotion on her face instantly vanished. She pulled out a stack of what looked like gibberish, angrily tore it to shreds, and scattered it all over me. “And I thought about compensating you. Our Quinn Industries has always valued employee care as its corporate culture. You, a degenerate who bullies subordinates, are utterly disgraceful!” Behind the scattered papers were Noah and his friends’ triumphant smiles. But Amy Quinn didn’t know that what was written on those papers was my latest technical report, which I had slaved over for five sleepless nights. I had asked the intern to print it this morning because I wanted to present it to Eastern Pacific Group, the largest client in the industry, before the bidding closed, to secure the project directly. She grabbed another stack of papers and savagely slapped them across my face. “Apologize to Noah, now!” The sharp edges of the A4 paper left several cuts on my face. The tingling pain, however, was nothing compared to the desolation in my heart. I bent down to pick up the documents I had painstakingly worked on, my voice as cold as my heart. “He didn’t follow my instructions to produce the files within an hour this morning because he wanted to show off his new equipment. He’s the one who should apologize!” 2 Amy Quinn’s face grew even darker. She stepped forward and grabbed my collar. “Charles Gray, when did you become so deceitful and malicious? You’re clearly in the wrong, and for a bit of jealousy, you’d abandon all dignity? Kneel down and apologize to Noah, and I… I might let you stay on the team!” The crowd of petty people erupted. “You old home-wrecker, using your position to bully and harass the rightful person, and you still have the nerve to demand an apology?” “A pile of waste paper, wasting company resources and disrupting our work. What right does such a selfish, lowlife man have to be a manager?” “You usually know you’re cheap. You don’t even take salary or benefits, just cling to Ms. Quinn. Today, for a measly flower, you finally couldn’t keep up the act, could you?” I couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating laugh— When Amy Quinn and I married, she was penniless, but she knew I liked to relax by playing games, and she often saved up to buy me gaming equipment. Our lives were humble then, but our hearts were full. Until she clamored to start her own business, pinching every penny, with no time to buy me equipment. As a renowned tech expert in the industry, I had no choice but to invest my money and efforts to support her. It wasn’t until last year, when the company began to thrive, expanding its team and hiring many interns, that she aimed to capture the market. I watched her every step of the way, knowing her struggles as an entrepreneur, so I joined Quinn Industries without a salary, giving all benefits to the new recruits. Even when rumors about her and Noah reached my ears, Even knowing that Noah, an intern, could expense anything without receipts or limits, Even though he’d been here only a year and couldn’t even manage basic printing, his year-end bonus was a sports car, I believed Amy Quinn’s explanation, “to show care for subordinates and enhance team cohesion.” But for today’s benefit, I always thought, given my preferences, she surely wouldn’t omit me. Yet, I never expected that my years of silent endurance and support would only be seen by everyone as undeserving. I pointed at the data on the document, looking at Amy Quinn with heartache. “This is the technical data I created with my blood and sweat. If it had been completed according to my timeline this morning, this document alone could have secured the Eastern Pacific bid ahead of time. Now it’s all ruined. Shouldn’t he be the one to go?” Noah, whom I was pointing at, his eyes darted around, then tears streamed down his face. “Manager Gray, I just got Ms. Quinn’s favor, and you’re setting such a malicious trap for me? No wonder you gave me a time limit to print so many documents. It turns out you couldn’t develop the software Ms. Quinn requested and were afraid of losing tomorrow’s bid, so you wanted to blame me! Are you really going to harm me just to cling to Ms. Quinn?” Others also chimed in. “I heard Ms. Quinn has been dissatisfied with the tech department for not breaking through the bottleneck for a year. This old fox is cunning, using Noah as a scapegoat!” “So it didn’t matter if the printed documents were garbled. It was just to give Noah an impossible task, purely for blame-shifting!” “How insidious! No wonder a man tries to climb the ladder by being a home-wrecker. Turns out he knows he’s incompetent!” Amy Quinn’s eyes were like daggers. She shoved me onto the pile of documents on the floor. “You’re truly scheming to calculate against Noah! I wondered why you volunteered for the tech work and then went quiet for so long. Turns out you were spending all your time plotting against Noah! Apologize to Noah immediately, or don’t even think about staying with the company!” But she forgot, back when the company was just starting and couldn’t afford employees, I often filled in for all positions. Including printing hundreds of pages within an hour, which she always considered basic. But when it came to Noah, it became me deliberately making things difficult. I gave a desolate smile, stood up, brushed off the paper scraps, took off my ID badge, and packed my belongings. “No need for threats. I’m quitting right now!” I printed another document, signed it, and handed it to her. “Sign this, and I’ll send you the mailing address.” Seeing the words “Divorce Agreement,” Amy Quinn froze, then instinctively grabbed me as I was about to leave— 3 Others assumed I was handing her a resignation letter and cheered. Only Noah, seeing her hold me back, his face instantly clouded over. He quickly pulled Amy Quinn’s arm away. “Ms. Quinn, are you trying to drag Manager Gray back to apologize to me? If he resigns as an apology, I might not be able to accept it…” Amy Quinn then recovered herself. Always mindful of her boss image, she quickly nodded along with his words. “Exactly, how can I let this scoundrel leave so easily?” She yanked me back, pressing me hard against the wall. “If I win the bid tomorrow, I’ll be a legendary heroine in the business world! How can you just leave at a time like this?” The fierce and unwilling look in her eyes, made it impossible for me to tell if she was keeping me for the bid, or for a love that had been worn down to a mere inconvenience by time. But I had long lost the interest to guess her thoughts. My heart like ashes, I stared straight into her eyes. “Since you think I’m incompetent, and you resent me for interfering with your love life, why stop me?” Amy Quinn’s face stiffened. She glanced at Noah behind her, making a clumsy attempt to cover up. “You’re neglecting your duties and bullying a colleague. Don’t drag me into it!” Then she leaned in, gritting her teeth and whispering. “Just because I’ve been busy with work these past few months and a bit less intimate in bed, you’re going to make a fuss over a keyboard and turn everything upside down?” I shook my head, speechless, and forcefully pushed her away. The contents of the cardboard box in my arms scattered across the floor. Noah immediately picked up the most conspicuous item, a photo album. He opened it and sneered. “No wonder Manager Gray is in such a hurry to leave Quinn Industries. Turns out he saw Ms. Quinn was out of reach and found someone new!” Others glanced at it and followed suit with mocking laughter. “Today, seeing he didn’t even get a keyboard, he knew Ms. Quinn was a lost cause and started looking for a new sugar mommy. How utterly pathetic! Looks like he’s been eagerly riding cars to hook up with new targets. Shameless!” But Amy Quinn’s face turned ashen as she looked at the contents— The album contained no photos, only train tickets. It was from college, during the National Computer Competition. She, as part of their school’s logistics team, fell for me at first sight and confessed passionately. But back then, I was already the school’s renowned prodigy, unmatched in software technology. Compared to her, a student who liked to play all sides and often failed classes, we were worlds apart. I gently rejected her, but after the competition, she came back again and again, even standing for hours on trains, to win me over. Moved by her persistence, I agreed to a relationship. When we got married, she gave me an album made of all those tickets, tears streaming down her face as she hugged me. “It took me thousands of miles to catch you. How could I not cherish you?” But now, this album of tickets had become the most ridiculous irony. Seeing my silence, the employees assumed they had guessed my illicit affair. They immediately took out their phones, pointed them at my face, and started a live stream. “I’ve never seen such a shameless kept man. Failing with one, he immediately goes to ruin the next. Everyone beware!” Instantly, my swollen face, paired with the title “Most Afraid of an Old Kept Man Who Tries Hard,” spread across the entire internet. Netizens delighted in the gossip, defamation flowing freely. “So old and still wanting to be a mistress. Isn’t earning money in bed tiring?” “Who told him he’s incompetent? No skills, so he has to rely on his body!” Some also questioned. “This man looks familiar. He seems to have won many tech awards before. He should earn quite a bit of money. Is it really necessary to be a kept man?” Seeing the public outcry, I was furious. I grabbed Amy Quinn’s collar. “Whether I’m a kept man or not, you know best. Tell everyone…”

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In the tenth year of my AA-marriage into a wealthy family, before I could fully wake up from the illusion of love, Ryan’s payment QR code was shoved right in my face. “The suite for tonight, you’re splitting the bill with me.” I barely had time to get dressed, fumbling for my phone. On the screen, my bank account balance showed a paltry thirty dollars. I awkwardly asked, “My paycheck doesn’t come until tomorrow. Could… could I pay you then?” Ryan just smiled at me, a hint of something unreadable, perhaps mockery, in his gaze: “That million dollars you used to betray me ten years ago, is it all spent? If you don’t want to split the bill… then just pretend you’re a street girl. We’ll go again, and I won’t charge you.” My eyelashes fluttered down. I said nothing more, just silently transferred the money. Only then did he get up to shower. What exactly happened ten years ago was a complete blank in my memory. When I woke up in the hospital, everyone told me that after Ryan and I eloped, I couldn’t stand the hardship. I’d gone to his mother, demanded a million dollars, and promised to leave him. A few blurry fragments flashed through my mind, and my head throbbed. Just then, Ryan’s phone chimed a few times. As if possessed, I picked up the phone and unlocked it. On the screen were a few suggestive photos from his secretary. “Mr. Howard, when are you divorcing that old hag?” My hands trembled as I morbidly scrolled through all their chat history, from their explicit flirtations to discussing rendezvous points. My tears dried and re-wet on my cheeks. Finally, I typed a reply: “Tomorrow.” 1. At two in the morning, I tiptoed out of bed. It was time to clean the restrooms at the Howard Group building. Ten years ago, I’d agreed to an AA-marriage with Ryan, but the expenses of high society were far more exorbitant than I’d imagined. Even if I ate nothing but plain pasta, just living in that villa meant monthly maintenance fees that were a colossal sum to me. And Ryan’s mother had “kindly” offered me a job: a restroom cleaner at the Howard Group. Even though I knew it was an insult, I accepted. Because I didn’t know where else I could find a fifty-thousand-dollar-a-month job to maintain my chance of staying by Ryan’s side. Luckily, starting tomorrow, I wouldn’t need to. Today’s cleaning solution was particularly acrid, and my eyes stung repeatedly. It wasn’t until nine in the morning that I finished cleaning all the restrooms in the entire building. This was Ryan’s mother’s requirement. She’d looked at my clean, unblemished hands with a smile then, saying softly, “Ophelia, before everyone starts work, all the restrooms in the building need to be sparkling clean. You can manage that, can’t you?” I’d gritted my teeth and agreed, even though my hands were once meant for painting. Exhausted, I huddled in the last utility closet in the restroom for a break. “Bang bang bang!” A loud knocking startled my heart. I opened the door, and there stood Ryan’s secretary, Laura. She was dressed impeccably in a professional suit, looking down at me. “Oh, Mrs. Howard, so you’re hiding out here, are you? The ladies’ room in the second stall is clogged. Could you please clear it?” Her words were polite, but her sarcastic gaze pierced straight through my faded cleaner’s uniform. My fists clenched tightly, my nails digging deep into my palms, though I barely felt it. Finally, I put on my mask and numbly nodded. Seeing me take out a long pair of tweezers, Laura raised a hand to stop me. “Mrs. Howard, the company’s toilets are all new. Each one is a smart toilet worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Using tools like that might damage it…” I frowned, “Then what do you want me to do?” “You figure something out. Just no tools…” The implication couldn’t have been clearer. I knew she wouldn’t give up unless I did as she wished. Thinking my paycheck hadn’t arrived yet, I didn’t want any more trouble. I mechanically knelt down. My stomach churned, whether from the smell or the emotion, sour bile rising in my throat. Tears silently fell, hidden by my mask. Under her watchful, amused gaze, I began to work. As the foreign object was pulled from the toilet, I heard a few clicks of a camera behind me. “Mrs. Howard, I’ve sent your hard-working picture to the company group chat, okay? Your spirit of not fearing hardship is truly inspiring!” Laura said, smiling at me. I paid no mind to her words, staring blankly at the purple sheer thong in my hand. It was the one she’d worn in the photos she’d sent last night. Laura’s delicate brow furrowed, feigning embarrassment: “Oh, how did this end up here? Could it be with Mr. Howard that day…” She said, “I’m so embarrassed! I was going to Mr. Howard’s office to report, and he wanted to see me in it!” “Mrs. Howard, could you do me a favor and run a quick errand? There’s a self-service store a few blocks away. Could you pick one up for me?” She pulled a few thousand dollars from her pocket and, without asking, shoved it into my hand. As I walked from the restroom to the main entrance of the building, people I passed avoided me as if I carried a plague. Those who walked by me covered their noses and chuckled lightly. I heard someone say, “These gold-diggers are really working for it!” As I carried the item back towards the Howard Group, I clutched my numb heart, thinking: What have I gained? Ten years of marriage, only zero in savings, and a lover who didn’t love me. With a notification of a payment received, I felt all the strength drain from my body. The spirit and feelings that ten years hadn’t managed to extinguish now vanished into thin air. I took the thong and the two documents I had prepared, walking towards Ryan’s office. One was a resignation letter, the other a divorce agreement. 2. Before pushing open the door to Ryan’s office, I glanced at his secretary’s desk outside. It was empty. Seeing me enter, Ryan looked up, his face flushed with an ambiguous color. “What are you doing in here?” His voice was hoarse, his tone carrying an underlying restraint. Ten years ago, he’d used that same tone, tenderly and lingeringly, to call me: “Lily.” “Ophelia?” he called me. The coldness in his voice snapped me back to reality. I placed the items in my hand on his desk. “Your secretary asked me to buy these panties. Said you needed them urgently.” Ryan scoffed, raising an eyebrow: “You really can tolerate a lot to be Mrs. Howard, can’t you?” “This is my resignation letter…” Ryan looked at me with surprise, his cold remarks still unsaid. Then he heard me say calmly, “The other one is our divorce agreement.” Ryan’s eyes instantly cleared, filled with a sharp, scrutinizing coldness. His hand gripped the leather armrest of his chair tightly. He took several deep breaths before speaking, his face looking less than pleased. “Ophelia, playing hard to get won’t work on me.” If I didn’t know who was currently beneath his wide office desk, I truly might have mistaken his words as an attempt to keep me. “Mr. Howard, I’m tired.” “Tired?” Ryan laughed, his handsome features utterly devoid of emotion. “Ophelia, for ten years you couldn’t bear to leave the Howard family’s gilded cage. What makes you willing to leave today? Or have you found another sugar daddy with your looks?” “Don’t think I’ll go soft.” His words were like sharp blades, stabbing into my heart again and again. He picked up my divorce agreement with just two fingers, glanced at it dismissively, then flicked it into the air. The paper drifted lightly to the floor, like my dignity and my heart. His thin lips opened and closed, uttering cruel and vicious words. “I’m not agreeing to a divorce, Ophelia. I’m not done with you yet.” “Ow!” No sooner had the words left his lips than Ryan winced in pain. Perhaps his little mistress, upset that he wouldn’t divorce, was causing a scene under his desk. I let out a self-mocking laugh in my heart. After the brief amusement, ten years of pent-up grievances surged to the surface. I struggled to speak calmly, to maintain my last shred of dignity, but what came out was a trembling whisper, laced with tears: “Ryan, please, let me go…” 3. Ryan’s face changed. He slumped backward, utterly drained, hitting the backrest of his chair with a thud. He spoke, his voice carrying a suppressed anger: “Is being with me that unbearable?” “Please, let me go? I don’t want anything anymore…” The title of Mrs. Howard, I don’t want it. Ryan himself, along with our relationship, I don’t want it anymore. Even why I left him with a million dollars in the first place, I no longer care to investigate. That memory, that relationship, after I discovered his infidelity, it all became irrelevant. Ryan’s gaze dimmed, like a murky pool of black water. “Why? It’s always been you coming and going as you please. Did you ever consider my feelings for a single moment?” Every word sounded squeezed from between his back teeth; he clearly hated me. “My family disagreed, yet I eloped with you. The Howard Group blacklisted me, I couldn’t find work. I was willing to work construction, just so you could paint freely in your studio, but what did you do?” Ryan laughed, his eyes reddening without warning. “You played me like a dog. One day you swore eternal love, the next you went to my mother for a million dollars to go to the Northside.” “In your heart… I was only worth a million.” The Northside… A dark, damp basement, a sticky sensation flashed in my mind. I suppressed the uncomfortable feeling and forced a bitter smile: “I’ve already repaid you for ten years, Mr. Howard, isn’t that enough?” Ryan was about to say something else when someone pushed open the door and walked in. He quickly composed himself. The newcomer was Mr. Peterson, a key business partner of the Howard Group. “Mr. Howard, I saw the secretary wasn’t outside, so I came straight in.” Ryan grunted, biting his index finger slightly. Arguing with me had already drained a lot of his energy; he was now on the verge of exploding. Mr. Peterson, mistaking me for a cleaning lady, pulled out a contract from his bag. “Mr. Howard, we were very pleased with my last proposal. We’re here today to sign the contract.” He stepped forward with the contract, but Ryan raised a hand and growled, “Stop.” Mr. Peterson paused, startled, frowning slightly with displeasure. Ryan quickly amended, “I think the proposal could be even more perfect. Please wait while I gather everyone for a meeting.” Mr. Peterson chuckled, “Mr. Howard is certainly meticulous. Why don’t I call everyone to your office for a meeting now?” Saying this, Mr. Peterson, ignoring Ryan’s darkening face, called people to the meeting in the work group chat. Employees are always swift. Even though Ryan was on the top floor of the building, everyone arrived within a minute. They all looked expectantly at Ryan, wanting to know what still needed to be revised. Ryan was tense, suppressing his primal urges, and began discussing the proposal with everyone in a rigid, formal manner. I took out a rag, pretending to clean, moving from the office desk to the display cabinet behind it. Under the desk, I met Laura’s eyes. She glared at me venomously. I pulled out the purple thong I’d retrieved from the toilet that morning and, without hesitation, tossed it onto her. The damp, soiled fabric touched Laura, and she let out a disgusted gasp, scrambling out from under the desk. Just like that, dishevelled, she stood face-to-face with everyone.

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Right before I was supposed to meet my online boyfriend in person, my best friend tried her hardest to talk me out of it. I had just blocked and deleted his contact when a floating chat feed suddenly materialized in my line of sight: [Wow, she really fits the ruthless female lead trope. The first thing she does after being reborn is steal her bestie’s billionaire boyfriend. Hilarious!] [The side character is so dumb. One little guilt trip and she deletes her multi-billionaire boyfriend. No wonder she’s just a stepping stone.] [But the female lead isn’t the one who actually chatted with him. What if she gets exposed?] [Relax! Our girl has the looks and the manipulation skills to play that pure-hearted rich boy like a fiddle. Just watch.] While I was still reeling from shock, Harper was still playing the role of the caring friend, her tone full of fake concern. “Amanda, you never know who you’re talking to on the internet. He could be a creep. Deleting him was the right call.” I slowly snapped back to reality and nodded. “Yeah. You make a good point.” 1 Even though I had seemingly blocked and deleted the “male lead”, Harper still wasn’t completely at ease. She probed further, her eyes searching my face. “Amanda, you didn’t send him your pictures, your phone number, or anything that could reveal your real identity, right?” I smiled and shook my head. “I’m not that stupid.” A flash of secret delight crossed Harper’s eyes, though she kept her voice sounding like a wise older sister. “Good. You have to protect your privacy online. Never hand out your personal info to strangers.” I nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not some naive college freshman anymore. I’ve been in the real world for over a year now. I know how to read people.” Harper stifled a laugh and teased. “Right, right. You’re a seasoned veteran now. So cunning.” I pretended not to catch the dripping sarcasm in her voice and lifted my chin proudly. “Obviously!” Harper secretly rolled her eyes, then faked a yawn. “Amanda, I have my part-time shift tomorrow. I’m going to crash. You should get some sleep too. Night.” I smiled back. “Night.” [The side character is painfully stupid. Getting sold out by the female lead and still counting the cash for her. Hopeless!] [Yeah, but I’m still worried the female lead might blow her cover.] [Don’t stress. She’s a top-tier actress and came fully prepared. She won’t slip up.] [Plus, the female lead is an absolute bombshell with killer curves. Way more seductive than this plain-jane sweet girl. Even if the guy finds out the truth later, he’ll just be glad he ended up with the hot one.] [True that!] [Am I the only one who thinks what the female lead is doing is highly immoral?] [The author literally tagged this as a toxic, selfish female lead story. If you want a saint, go read something else!] I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the floating text. Seriously? Who actively roots for a homewrecker? 2 Once Harper’s bedroom door clicked shut, I casually strolled back into my own room. I pulled out my phone and unblocked my online boyfriend, adding him right back on a different messaging app. I hadn’t given him my phone number, but I definitely had his. [Holy crap! The side character kept a backup plan!] [Why did she lie to the female lead? Did she catch onto her scheme?] [Not necessarily. Maybe she just got annoyed with the nagging and pretended to delete the guy to shut her up.] [Fingers crossed.] [It doesn’t matter why she lied. What matters is that the female lead has no idea she’s been played!] [Stay calm, the female lead will figure it out. There has to be a plot twist!] A plot twist? We’ll see about that. My boyfriend hadn’t messaged me during that brief window, so he remained blissfully unaware that he had ever been blocked. I slipped into the white dress I had bought specifically for our meetup. I took several selfies, carefully cropping them to only show everything below the bridge of my nose. I picked the most flattering shot and sent it to the contact named “Rowan”. I typed out a quick message: Don’t mistake me for someone else tomorrow, handsome. He replied almost instantly. Rowan: Wouldn’t dream of it! Rowan: You look gorgeous, babe. [Drooling emoji] Amanda: Good to know. Rowan: Your lips are incredible. Can I kiss them tomorrow? The chat feed wasn’t entirely wrong. My overall vibe was sweet and girl-next-door, lacking Harper’s natural, sultry allure. But my lips were my best feature. Naturally flushed and perfectly shaped, they looked incredibly inviting in isolation. Amanda: Not tomorrow. Depends on how you behave. [Winking emoji] Rowan: Challenge accepted! I promise I won’t disappoint. We flirted back and forth for about half an hour before I used sleep as an excuse to cut the conversation short. I could tell he was craving more. But basic psychology dictates that you never give a guy everything he wants all at once. [She actually sent him a picture. I feel like our female lead might be in trouble.] [Chill out. The female lead can turn the tide. Besides, it’s only the lower half of a face. He might not even recognize her.] [But those lips are pretty distinct. If he pays attention, he might be able to tell the difference.] [Doesn’t matter. The guy is obsessed with looks. The female lead will win him over with sheer beauty!] I closed my eyes with a cold smirk. I’d love to see Harper try to turn this tide. Of course, if this so-called “male lead” actually took one look at Harper and fell head over heels, I’d have nothing to say. But even if he was driven by pure lust, I was going to make damn sure he knew that Harper was a manipulative snake who tried to steal her best friend’s man. Harper wouldn’t be leaving any perfect impressions on anyone’s mind. 3 Harper and I had been college roommates. She came from a struggling background with parents who blatantly favored her brother. Her tuition was paid through student loans, and she survived entirely on part-time jobs. My family wasn’t filthy rich, but we were comfortably middle-class. Being an only child, my parents never let me lack for anything. When I found out about her financial struggles, I quietly took her under my wing. I frequently paid for her meals without making a big deal out of it. Whenever I shopped for seasonal clothes, I’d buy her a couple of outfits too. I shared all my expensive skincare and makeup with her. After graduation, we landed jobs at different companies. Knowing she was drowning in loan repayments, I deliberately found an apartment exactly halfway between our offices. I voluntarily covered the entire rent, electricity, and water bills just so she could save every dime. It wasn’t a completely one-sided dynamic, to be fair. In college, she was the one fetching my packages and scrubbing our dorm room. When we moved in together, she took over all the household chores without asking. I never felt it was unfair. I genuinely considered her my best friend. Yet, just to secure a luxurious lifestyle, she resorted to such deceitful tactics to steal my boyfriend. It left me feeling a freezing mixture of heartbreak and rage. If she could throw away years of loyalty for money, she couldn’t blame me for turning ruthless. I tossed and turned that night, finally drifting into a restless sleep around three in the morning. By the time I woke up, it was already ten. At eight sharp, Rowan had sent a message: Morning, gorgeous. Amanda: Morning! Five minutes later, my phone buzzed. Rowan: Sleepyhead. Just woke up? Amanda: Yeah. Taking full advantage of the weekend. Rowan: I respect that. Just don’t forget our date tonight! Amanda: Don’t worry, I won’t. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. See you there. Rowan: Can’t wait! [The female lead still hasn’t noticed anything. She’s in danger.] [There’s still hours left. She has a chance.] [What if the side character just coincidentally gets hit by a car on the way to the meetup?] [Oh man, maybe!] Thanks for the heads-up, floating chat. I’ll be sure to look both ways before crossing the street. 4 After wrapping up the chat, I took my time getting out of bed and throwing on some clothes. When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed a sticky note Harper had left on the dining table. It read in her neat handwriting, “Left some pork and century egg porridge in the pot. Make sure you eat breakfast!” A complex knot formed in my stomach. Harper was only a year older than me, but she had always acted like a protective older sister. She knew I had a habit of sleeping through breakfast on weekends, so she prepared something for me every single morning. I used to find it incredibly touching. Now, it just felt nauseatingly fake. I walked over to the stove, stared at the perfectly cooked, aromatic porridge for a few seconds, then picked up the pot and dumped the entire thing into the trash. [Holy shit! She just threw away the food the female lead made for her. Is she a reincarnated character too?] [Highly likely! I hope the female lead realizes it soon, otherwise she’s going to take a massive hit.] [Stop worrying. Harper is the true protagonist here. Amanda is just a minor roadblock!] Around three in the afternoon, my phone pinged with a message from Harper. Harper: Amanda, I’m stuck working overtime today. I’ll be home late. Just order some takeout or make something simple. I’ll cook your favorite sweet and sour ribs tomorrow. Amanda: Don’t stress about me. Focus on work so they don’t dock your pay. Harper: Will do. I just ordered a mango pomelo sago for you from that place you love. I paid extra for extra toppings. Drink it as soon as it arrives! Amanda: Aww, thanks. Harper: Don’t mention it. We exchanged a few more casual, friendly texts before she claimed a customer had walked in and ended the conversation. Ten minutes later, the delivery guy dropped off the iced drink. I had just poured the entire cup down the toilet and flushed when the chat feed flared up again. [Disaster! I don’t think the side character just reincarnated. I think she reincarnated AFTER the female lead did!] [That’s the only explanation. How else would she know the female lead ordered the staff to use heavily contaminated tap water for that drink?!] [Then the female lead is totally screwed!] [Relax, she’ll notice something is off and execute a flawless counterattack.] [Am I the only one who kind of wants to see the toxic female lead crash and burn?] [Quietly agreeing. I want to see her fail too.] I stared at the empty plastic cup in my hand, my blood running cold. I had a notoriously weak stomach. Eating anything remotely unhygienic would guarantee me a night of agonizing cramps and diarrhea. She had gone to extreme, malicious lengths just to keep me trapped in the bathroom while she stole my life. I really had overestimated her humanity. Perhaps to verify if her little biological weapon had worked, Harper sent another text fishing for information. I played along, telling her my stomach was cramping up and blaming it on some greasy takeout I had for lunch. She swallowed the lie hook, line, and sinker, even putting on a show of ordering stomach medicine for me online. 5 That evening, I arrived at the plaza twenty minutes early. Instead of heading straight to the designated meeting spot, I tucked myself behind a massive illuminated billboard near the bus stop, keeping my eyes peeled. Ten minutes later, a gorgeous guy holding a bouquet of pink roses walked into view. He headed straight for the south side of the fountain, pacing with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Unless I was completely wrong, this was my online boyfriend. The man the chat feed called the “male lead”, Rowan. Five more minutes passed. Then, Harper made her entrance. She knew I was planning to wear a white dress, so she wore one too, opting for a stunning strapless design. I had to admit it. Harper had a body that turned heads. The moment she stepped into the plaza, she drew the eyes of everyone around her, including Rowan. But probably out of a guilty conscience, she was wearing a medical mask, making her look incredibly suspicious. Rowan spotted the white dress, gripped his flowers, and strode purposely toward her. I was too far away to catch their exact words. But based on Rowan’s relaxed body language, he was clearly thrilled with what he saw. And honestly, standing side by side, they looked like a magazine cover. After a brief exchange, Rowan reached out, gently took Harper’s hand, and started leading her toward the entrance of the luxury mall. I didn’t rush out to create a dramatic scene. Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone and dialed his number. He answered on the second ring, but his voice was completely detached and cold. “Who is this? What do you want?” I feigned total ignorance and let my voice go soft and sweet. “Handsome, it’s me! I’m here. Where are you?” Rowan stopped dead in his tracks. A heavy silence stretched for two seconds before he asked, his tone dripping with sudden vigilance, “Who exactly are you?” I poured on the innocent confusion. “It’s me! Didn’t we agree to meet by the fountain at eight? Don’t tell me you forgot!” Rowan whipped his head around, his eyes desperately scanning the area around the fountain. The chat feed exploded in real time: [Holy crap! No plot twist! I’m getting massive second-hand embarrassment!] [Give it a second! There’s totally going to be a twist!] [What if he finds out she’s the real online girlfriend, but still chooses the female lead anyway? That would be the ultimate slap in the face for the side character. Hahaha!] [Exactly! They’ve only ever talked online. They’ve never even met. Plus, with the side character’s mediocre IQ, there is zero chance she can handle a dominant billionaire heir.] [So true. Only a sultry temptress like the female lead can tame a wild alpha dog like him.] 6 Rowan stood frozen, looking over his shoulder. After about ten seconds of silence, I let out an exaggerated sigh of complaint. “It’s your girlfriend! Are you seriously telling me you forgot my voice?!” “Fuck!” Rowan cursed violently under his breath. He aggressively ripped his hand out of Harper’s grasp and started marching back toward the fountain. Harper panicked, instinctively reaching out to grab his arm to stop him. “Get off me!” Rowan shoved her hard. Caught off guard in her heels, Harper let out a sharp gasp and stumbled backward, falling hard onto the concrete. Rowan didn’t even spare her a second glance. He broke into a jog, keeping the phone pressed to his ear. “Babe, where exactly are you? Some crazy woman just tried to impersonate you. She almost had me fooled!” I gasped in fabricated shock. “Are you serious? That’s psychotic! Wait, I think I see you!” I stepped out from the shadows and stood directly under the streetlamp next to the fountain, waving my arm high in the air. “I see you too!” Rowan locked eyes with me and sprinted over. I walked forward to meet him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harper staring in my direction with wide, terrified eyes. She scrambled up from the ground and practically sprinted away, disappearing into the crowd. Rowan jogged to a halt right in front of me. His chest heaved as his eyes darted down to my white dress, and then fixed intensely on my lips. It took him a few seconds to confirm I was the girl from the photo. He let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “Babe, I’m so sorry. Some woman wearing a dress just like yours came up to me. I was this close to believing it was you!” “Thank God you called when you did. I was about to get totally scammed.” I widened my eyes, playing the perfect innocent victim. “Who would do something like that? That’s so creepy!” Rowan turned and pointed furiously at the empty spot where Harper had fallen. “Some psycho wearing a mask and sunglasses! She was just standing right there, but she bolted.” I crossed my arms indignantly. “What an absolute freak.” Rowan nodded emphatically, absolute disgust written across his handsome features. “A total freak.” [I can’t believe there was no twist.] [The side character played that beautifully. The male lead is definitely disgusted by the female lead right now. It’s going to be so much harder for her to steal him away.] [Wait, two fake besties who both reincarnated? I kind of like this dynamic way more!] [Honestly, reading this from an outside perspective is really satisfying. I hate homewreckers.] [When men cheat, people excuse it. When women do it, they get crucified. The internalized misogyny is real!] [Are you mentally ill? Who said anything about excusing cheating men? I literally just said I hate homewreckers of any gender!] The chat feed devolved into a messy argument. I found the whole thing ridiculous. Some of these invisible watchers seemed downright addicted to stories glorifying infidelity. Probably reflected their own twisted morals in real life.

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Right after I found out I was pregnant, my husband’s first love—the woman he had pined for over ten years—returned to the country. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He threw a divorce agreement on the table and demanded I sign. I walked away with absolutely nothing. I secretly gave birth to my daughter, assuming our lives would never cross paths again. Until five years later. Desperate to scrape together enough money for my daughter’s life-saving surgery, I took a job as an escort at an underground VIP nightclub. When we met again, he was sitting in the center booth, surrounded by men treating him like royalty. One of his rich friends pointed a cigar at my heavily made-up face and laughed maliciously. “Declan, this one’s gorgeous. Mind if I drag her to the bathroom for a quick spin?” Declan slowly lifted his eyes. His cold gaze locked onto my face. He let out a low, mocking chuckle, reached into his pocket, and tossed a foil packet onto the glass table. “Be my guest. Just make sure you use that. You don’t want to catch whatever diseases she has.” … I forced my hips to sway as I walked over and picked the foil packet off the glass. Then, moving smoothly, I dropped to my knees right beside Declan’s tailored suit pants. I tilted my head up, forcing my voice to sound sickeningly sweet. “Thank you for the gift, Mr. Molesley.” “You’re so generous. As long as the price is right, I can belong to anyone tonight.” Someone in the booth whistled sharply, laughing. “Damn, Declan, your ex-wife knows how to play the game!” “No kidding. She’s way looser than the professionals we usually hire. I bet she’s a wild ride.” Declan’s friend grinned, leaning over and gripping my arm tightly, hauling me to my feet. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me show you a good time!” Every alarm bell in my head was screaming, but I didn’t dare fight back. This was their territory. I kept a frozen smile on my face as he half-dragged, half-carried me toward the private restrooms down the hall. I threw a desperate look back over my shoulder at Declan. He sat perfectly still, his face an emotionless mask, slowly lighting a cigarette. He didn’t lift a finger to stop it. The second we hit the bathroom doorway, the rich kid’s hands started aggressively wandering, his breath reeking of expensive liquor. “Stop playing hard to get, beautiful. Declan threw you away like trash. Who are you putting on this act for?” “Let me take care of you, and I’ll make sure you never have to work a day in your life.” The sheer terror in my eyes finally broke through my makeup. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an empty whiskey bottle resting on the sink counter. Using every ounce of adrenaline in my body, I grabbed it by the neck and smashed it down onto his wrist. He howled in agony, his grip loosening just enough. I shoved him backward and ran for my life, tearing back down the hallway in a blind panic. I crashed headfirst into a solid, unmoving chest. Gasping for air, I looked up. I was staring straight into Declan’s icy, calculating eyes. He wasn’t angry. Instead, he looked down at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cruel, amused smirk as he took in my disheveled, terrified state. “What’s wrong?” “Did you price yourself out of the market?” The men who had followed him out into the hall started jeering. “What’s the matter, Stella? Was his offer too low? Come on, give us a number!” Declan’s voice cut through the noise, dropping the temperature in the room. “Or maybe he just wasn’t enough man for you. You want me to take you for a test drive instead?” Instead of breaking down under the humiliation, I leaned into the madness. I dropped to my knees right on the sticky club floor, landing back at his feet. I reached out, my trembling fingers grazing the hem of his trousers, and offered him the most broken, wretched smile I could muster. “You’re too funny, Mr. Molesley. Of course I’d rather have you take me for a test drive.” “It’s just… his offer was insulting.” “You know me. I’m incredible in bed, but my rates are steep.” “If the price is right, you don’t even need to test drive me. You can break me.” The mockery in his eyes darkened into something violent. He pulled his leather wallet from his jacket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and violently slapped the entire stack directly across my face. His voice was pure venom. “You want to negotiate? Fine.” “Two grand for every slap.” “How much can you take?” I needed twenty thousand dollars to hit the hospital’s account by tomorrow morning, or my daughter would be taken off life support. Without a second of hesitation, I nodded. My cheek was stinging, but I kept the smile plastered on. “I can take it. Keep them coming. Thank you, Mr. Molesley.” He raised his hand. He didn’t hold back. The first strike connected with a sickening crack. My left ear instantly started ringing in a high-pitched whine. “That’s for insulting my friend.” The second strike snapped my head to the side. “That’s to remind you of your place.” The men in the hallway watched with morbid fascination. I saw camera flashes going off as they recorded the spectacle. Surrounded by a crowd of laughing billionaires, I stayed on my knees, smiling through split lips, taking over a dozen full-force slaps without making a single sound. My cheeks swelled grotesquely, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, dripping down my chin. Eventually, he grew bored. He lowered his hand, his chest heaving slightly. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his breast pocket and meticulously wiped the hand he had used to beat me, pressing hard into the skin. As if he had just touched raw sewage. He dropped the soiled cloth onto my battered face. His voice was a quiet, devastating sneer. “The old Mrs. Molesley used to be so high and mighty, completely untouchable. Look at you now. You’re cheaper than a stray dog.” I scrambled to pick up the scattered bills off the floor, swallowing the blood pooling in my mouth to force out a laugh. “You’re absolutely right, sir. But a stray dog doesn’t know how to beg for cash the way I do, does she?” Clutching the thick wad of life-saving cash to my chest, I ignored the throbbing agony in my skull and practically crawled my way out of the club, stumbling into the night air. As the heavy doors swung shut behind me, I faintly heard a woman’s soft, elegant voice calling his name from down the hall. It was the voice he had always loved. The gentleness that used to be mine, but never would be again. In the dingy employee locker room, I stood over the rusted sink, desperately splashing freezing water onto my destroyed face. The woman in the cracked mirror had bruised, swollen cheeks and a busted lip, but her eyes were burning with a terrifying, feral light. I gripped the wet cash in my fist. There was only one thought keeping me breathing. If it meant saving my daughter, I wouldn’t just become a dog. I would become a monster. And I would do it gladly. 2 The moment I pushed through the back doors of the nightclub, my phone began vibrating violently in my cheap purse. It was the hospital. “Are you the mother of the patient in bed 23? The child’s vitals just crashed. She needs emergency surgery right now. We need you here to sign the consent forms! We’ve been trying to reach you!” The nurse’s voice was cracking with panic. “If you don’t get here in the next ten minutes, we’re going to lose her!” An icy fist seized my heart, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. A torrential downpour had hit the city. I stood on the curb, instantly soaked to the bone by the freezing rain, frantically waving at empty cabs that sped right past me. Panic clawed at my throat. I was seconds away from throwing myself in front of moving traffic just to force a car to stop. Suddenly, a massive black SUV swerved aggressively through the puddle in front of me, throwing a wave of dirty water over my legs, and slammed on the brakes. The tinted window hummed downward, revealing Declan’s handsome, shadow-drenched face. Bathed in the warm, ambient light of the luxury interior, Serena—his untouchable first love—was leaning intimately against his shoulder. When she saw me standing in the storm looking like a drowned rat, a flash of vicious triumph flickered in her eyes. It vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of angelic, heartbreaking pity. She reached out, gently tugging at Declan’s suit sleeve, her voice trembling with manufactured concern. “Declan, isn’t that… Stella? What is she doing out here? Look at her, she’s freezing. And her face… it’s awful.” She paused perfectly, letting her voice drop into a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard some rumors recently… people are saying she got mixed up with some lowlife guy. He doesn’t work, and he’s deep in debt to loan sharks. You don’t think she’s running out in the middle of a storm to give him the money you just threw at her, do you? Declan, that cash you gave her…” It was a masterclass in manipulation. She knew exactly which buttons to press to trigger his deepest insecurities and rage. Declan’s face instantly hardened into a mask of pure, lethal fury. He turned to look at the “fragile” woman clinging to him, his expression softening for a fraction of a second, before barking a cold order at his driver. “Take Serena home first.” Mission accomplished. Serena offered a meek, obedient nod, but right before the tinted glass rolled up, she shot me a look of pure, unadulterated victory. The heavy SUV peeled away into the storm, abandoning me on the sidewalk. I let out a ragged breath of relief, thinking the nightmare was over, and sprinted down the block trying to flag down another taxi. But less than five minutes later, the black SUV came roaring back up the street, performing a violent, screeching U-turn and slamming to a halt inches from my knees. The rear door was kicked open from the inside. Declan stepped out into the pouring rain alone. He had ripped off his tie. He stalked toward me, the violence in his eyes completely unhinged. He hated the idea that I was degrading myself to fund another man’s life. But he hated it even more that I dared to look so utterly broken and desperate in front of him. “In a rush to go bail out your deadbeat boyfriend?” He lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of my soaking wet hair, and brutally slammed me backward against the cold metal hood of the car. The rain battered against my swollen face. “Drop the innocent martyr act!” His breath was hot against my ear, his voice a low, terrifying growl. “Are you really that desperate for a man, Stella?” “Five grand. Right here on the hood of the car. Are you taking it or not?” Without Serena there to perform for, his cruelty became visceral and completely unrestrained. Hearing the dollar amount, my desperate thrashing froze for a split second. I turned my head. Rain and tears tracked through the drying blood on my face as I forced out a grotesque, hollow smile. “Only five?” “You’re insulting me, Declan.” I forced my chest upward, leaning into the degradation. “What’s wrong? Your precious first love just left and you’re already starved for attention?” “Makes sense. I’ve always been a much better ride than her anyway.” That was the final match in the powder keg. The last thread of his sanity snapped. His hand shot to my throat, his fingers tightening like a steel vice, threatening to crush my windpipe. As his vision narrowed in blind rage, I seized my chance. I brought my hand up and dragged my jagged fingernails violently down the side of his neck, leaving three deep, bleeding gashes. I screamed, my voice tearing my vocal cords. “You’re going to rot in hell for this, Declan!” 3 The stinging pain on his neck obliterated whatever was left of his self-control. His eyes went dead. He yanked the heavy car door open and threw me into the back seat like a bag of garbage. He slammed the door, the electronic locks clicking shut with a heavy thud, and shouted at the driver through the partition. “Drive. Take us to the cliffside estate.” I knew I had pushed too far. I thought antagonizing him would make him disgusted enough to throw me back onto the street. Instead, I had trapped myself. As the car accelerated, pulling me further and further away from the hospital, I dropped to my knees on the floorboards. I didn’t care about my pride anymore. I threw my upper body forward, slamming my forehead against the expensive leather of his seat. The dull thud echoed in the quiet cabin. “Declan, I’m begging you. I was wrong!” “I have an emergency! Someone is going to die!” “Just let me go to this one place! Just this one place!” “Once I’m done, I’ll come right back to you! You can kill me for all I care, just let me go!” He stared down at me, his eyes entirely devoid of humanity. He was getting high off the absolute power he held over my suffering. “Your life is worthless.” He casually adjusted his cuffs, entirely unbothered by my screaming. “I just wanted to see you crawling on your knees like a dog. It’s incredibly entertaining.” In his warped mind, my total breakdown was just a theatrical performance to get back to my imaginary lover. “What’s the matter? Your little toy boy taking his last breath?” “Is he really worth throwing away your last shred of dignity for?” At that exact second, my phone started vibrating violently in my wet pocket. In the dim light of the backseat, the bright screen illuminated the interior. The caller ID flashed in massive, bold letters: “City Gen – Pediatric ICU.” It was the lifeline. The only hope my daughter had left. I let out a choked sob and threw myself at my pocket, clawing desperately for the phone. But Declan was faster. He snatched the device out of my hand. He glanced at the caller ID, and the cruel smirk on his face deepened. “City Gen Pediatric ICU?” He read the words aloud like the punchline to a pathetic joke. “You changed your boyfriend’s contact name, and you actually hired someone to call you? You went through all this effort just to trick me into letting you out of this car?” “Wow, Stella. Let’s see how deep your commitment to this little play goes.” Right in front of my horrified eyes, he swiped to answer the call. And just to twist the knife, he put it on speaker. Dr. Harrison’s voice ripped through the speakers, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. “Stella! Where the hell are you?! The child’s heart rate is plunging! I need you here to sign off on the bypass right now! Every second you’re not here, she is slipping away!” It was the sound of the grim reaper standing over my baby’s bed. Hearing that voice, my organs felt like they were liquefying. I threw myself over the center console, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Doctor! Save her! I’m coming—” Declan’s large hand clamped brutally over my mouth, cutting off my scream, as he forced me back down against the seat. He leaned toward the phone. His voice was casual, bored, without a single drop of empathy. “She’s busy.” The doctor froze for a second. “Who is this? The patient is coding…” Declan let out a harsh laugh, cutting the doctor off mid-sentence. “Save the script. I’ve seen better acting in soap operas. Tell the kid to stop playing dead. It’s not going to work.” “If she wants to pull the plug, let her. Deal with it yourselves.” He didn’t wait for a response. His thumb hit the red button, killing the call. Then, he rolled down the tinted window. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed my phone—my only connection to my dying child—out the window and into the black abyss of the highway overpass. I stared blankly at the window. I watched the tiny, glowing rectangle vanish into the rain. It felt as though I was watching the monitor tracking my daughter’s heartbeat flatline in real time. A sound tore out of my throat—a guttural, inhuman shriek of pure agony. I lost my mind. I threw myself at him, snapping my teeth, trying to rip out his throat. He backhanded me so hard my vision flashed white, and I collapsed against the far door. My ears rang violently. The car tore through the rain, heading into the mountains, leaving the hospital miles behind us. I curled into a tight, trembling ball on the floorboards, clutching my chest as the invisible blades shredded my heart into ribbons. I could feel it in my bones. The most important piece of my soul was fading away into the dark. When we reached the isolated estate, he dragged my limp body into a guest room and threw me onto the rug like a corpse. The heavy oak door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. “You’re not leaving this room tonight.” His voice bled through the wood, cold and absolute. “Spend the night figuring out how to properly get on your knees and beg.” 4 The next morning, I lay paralyzed on the cold carpet. My eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling, completely dead inside. The extreme trauma and grief had triggered a violent physical response. My body began to convulse, burning with a terrifyingly high fever. Declan unlocked the door, intending to continue his psychological torture. But when he saw me, he froze. My lips were cracked and bleeding, my skin the color of ash. He reached down to touch my forehead. The blistering heat radiating from my skin made him snatch his hand back like he’d been burned. He let out a frustrated breath, cursing under his breath. “Damn it.” “Who are you pretending to die for? Don’t do it in my house. It’s disgusting.” Despite the venom in his words, he bent down, scooped my shaking body into his arms, and carried me to the car, speeding toward the nearest hospital. By pure, horrific coincidence, the closest emergency room was City General. In the passenger seat, I was drifting in and out of consciousness. But my cracked lips kept moving, chanting the same broken prayer over and over. “Too late… I’m too late… My Penny…” Declan gripped the steering wheel, sneering. “Still acting? You never quit, do you?” When I finally woke up from the IV drip in the ER, the overwhelming stench of bleach and iodine slammed into my senses, dragging me out of the darkness. My eyes snapped open. My heart hammered against my ribs—the terrifying, biological alarm of a mother who knew her child was gone. I ripped the IV out of my arm, ignoring the blood running down my hand, and tried to bolt for the door to find my daughter. Declan stepped into the room and grabbed my wrist, crushing it in his grip. He glared down at me, unleashing a barrage of insults. “Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” “Still trying to run back to your pathetic loser boyfriend?” “You collapsing in my house forced me to bring you here. Serena found out. She thinks you’re putting on this sick little show to seduce me! She’s locked in her room crying right now!” “Get up. You’re coming with me to apologize to her. You’re going to get on your knees and explain everything.” The roaring in my ears drowned out his psychotic rambling. I didn’t care about him. I didn’t care about his precious Serena. I wanted my baby. With a surge of hysterical strength, I shoved him backward. I didn’t even stop to put my shoes on. Barefoot, I sprinted down the linoleum hallway toward the Pediatric ICU. “Have you lost your damn mind?! Come back here!” Declan’s furious shouts echoed behind me, but I didn’t look back. I crashed through the double doors of the ICU wing and sprinted to Bed 23. A nurse was quietly stripping the sheets off an empty mattress. That bed. I had spent months sleeping in a plastic chair next to that bed. I lunged forward, grabbing the nurse’s arm with a grip like a vise. My entire body was shaking so violently my teeth rattled. “Excuse me… where is the girl from Bed 23?” “Where is my baby?” The nurse turned. When she recognized my face, her eyes filled with a heavy, devastating sorrow. “You’re the mother?” “I am so sorry. We did absolutely everything we could.” “At 2 AM last night, she went into multi-organ failure. We desperately needed you to sign the authorization for the bypass.” She let out a shaky sigh. “We called you dozens of times. It just kept going to voicemail.” “Right before she passed, she kept crying out for you… There was nothing more we could do.” “She’s gone. Transport just took her down to the morgue.” Last night. 2 AM. The exact moment he ripped the phone out of my hand and threw it off the bridge. The exact moment he locked me in a dark room and smothered my only hope of saving her. A sickening, metallic warmth surged up my throat. I couldn’t hold it back. I violently coughed, and a spray of dark blood erupted from my lips, splattering across the pristine white tiles of the hospital floor. Declan finally caught up to me. Seeing the blood dripping from my chin, the rage vanished from his face, replaced by sudden shock. He opened his mouth, stepping forward to say something. I slowly turned to face him. My face was smeared with my own blood, but the corners of my mouth stretched upward into a smile so twisted, so completely broken, it barely looked human. I stared right through him, forcing the words out of my ruined throat. “Declan. Congratulations.” He froze, his eyes widening. I enunciated every single syllable. “You personally killed your own biological daughter.”

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I was in the middle of a remote translation for a major Italian client when the call came through. HR. “Audrey, you’re being laid off. Come in and get your paperwork now.” Listening to the sterile, impersonal voice on the phone, then looking back at the expectant client on my screen, I had to laugh. Leaning into my headset, I spoke in flawless Italian. “My apologies, but our session ends here. The company you’re partnering with just fired me.” The video conference exploded into chaos. 1 The HR manager’s voice, cold and sterile, slithered through the line like a venomous snake coiling in my ear. Each word was a sharp, brutal blow, as if she were disposing of a piece of expired trash. On my computer screen, Mr. Rossi, the CEO of the Italian luxury brand, was watching me with a furrowed brow. Beneath his salt-and-pepper eyebrows, his eyes were sharp and focused, waiting for me to translate the crucial final clauses of their contract. Behind him, his entire executive team—a dozen European faces in their little digital squares—formed a silent, high-stakes tableau. This was a multi-million dollar deal, and the negotiations had reached their absolute peak. And I, Audrey Hale, the lead interpreter for the project, had just been told I was fired. At the eleventh hour. How utterly absurd. How laughable. A cold, sharp laugh bubbled up from my chest, shattering the initial shock and disbelief. I didn’t spare a glance for my boss, Mr. Peterson, whose face I could see in my peripheral vision cycling through shades of crimson and ghostly white. Nor did I pay any mind to the HR manager still barking orders into my phone. I simply adjusted the thin metal frames of my glasses, repositioned my headset, and leaned closer to the microphone. My gaze was fixed on the camera, as if I could stare right through the screen and into Mr. Rossi’s eyes. Then, in the clearest, most impeccable Roman accent, I calmly delivered the bombshell I’d been preparing my whole life for. “Scusate, la traduzione di oggi finisce qui, perché l’azienda con cui collaborate mi ha appena licenziato.” (My apologies, but our session ends here. The company you’re partnering with just fired me.) Silence. For a full half-second, the screen was dead quiet. Then, Mr. Rossi’s deep blue eyes shot wide, his focus instantly replaced by sheer disbelief. The executives behind him erupted into a cacophony of urgent Italian. “Cosa sta succedendo?” (What’s happening?) “L’hanno licenziata? Adesso?” (They fired her? Now?) In the corner of my screen, Peterson’s face had morphed into a grotesque shade of purple. He waved his hands frantically at the camera, his broken English tumbling out in a panic. “No, no, Mr. Rossi! Is… is technical problem! Signal is not good!” A pathetic excuse from a clumsy executioner. On the phone, the HR manager finally grasped the situation. “Audrey! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Oh, I knew. I had never been more clear-headed in my life. Ignoring the chaos, I addressed Mr. Rossi one last time, my voice sincere. “Mi dispiace sinceramente per l’inconveniente, Signor Rossi. È stato un onore lavorare con lei.” (I am truly sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Rossi. It has been an honor to work with you.) Then, with a single, deliberate tap on my trackpad, I clicked “Leave Meeting.” The world went silent. I tossed my headset on the desk and unplugged my phone. The icon for our company’s internal chat app was flashing manically, the notification count climbing past 99. I glanced at it. Peterson was frantically tagging everyone in the group chat, his message in bold red letters. “Regarding Audrey Hale, no one is to discuss this outside the company! If I hear one word, there will be consequences!” How amusing. As if silencing everyone could make it un-happen. Private messages from my colleagues started popping up like a virus. “Audrey, are you okay? Peterson is losing his mind!” “Oh my God, Audrey, you’re a legend! What the hell happened?” I didn’t reply to any of them. I stood up, walked to the window, and took a deep breath of the city’s afternoon air, thick with the scent of exhaust fumes. The suffocating feeling of betrayal and humiliation finally began to loosen its grip on my chest. There was no confusion, no hesitation. I turned back to my desk and calmly began to pack my personal belongings. The small succulent on my desk, the keyboard I’d used for three years, the well-worn Italian dictionary. Each item I packed felt like shedding a piece of my old, stifled life. By the time I taped the last box shut, my heart was a placid lake. This war… was just getting started. 2 Showing up at the office the next day to sign my severance papers was like walking into my own public execution. Colleagues who had once greeted me with a cheerful “Hey, Audrey!” now avoided my gaze, skirting around me like I was the plague. Their eyes were a mixture of pity, curiosity, and, most of all, fear. Fear of Peterson’s invisible wrath. The air in the HR office was cold enough to freeze. The manager who had screamed at me over the phone now eyed me like a criminal, slamming a thick stack of exit documents onto the desk. “Sign them. Then get out.” Her voice dripped with undisguised contempt, as if my very presence was contaminating the air. I didn’t move. I just calmly flipped through the pages. Under the “Reason for Termination” section, a few words were typed in stark black ink: Gross violation of company policy and leakage of confidential business information. What a convenient, career-ending accusation. They were trying to nail me to the industry’s cross, to ensure I would never work again. “This isn’t true,” I said, looking up at her. My voice was quiet but firm. She scoffed, crossing her arms. “What’s true is what the company says is true. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Audrey.” Just then, the office door swung open. Jessica strutted in on four-inch stilettos, a file folder clutched in her hands and a smug, triumphant smirk on her face. She feigned surprise when she saw me, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Audrey, you’re still here? I thought you’d be gone by yesterday.” She drew out my name with a sickeningly sweet, mocking tone. “Mr. Peterson asked me to collect all the files for the Rossi project. I’ll be taking over from now on.” She shot me a provocative glance from the corner of her eye. The HR manager’s demeanor instantly changed, her face melting into a fawning smile. “Of course, Jessica. It’s all right here. Mr. Peterson already gave me the heads-up.” Jessica. Peterson’s distant cousin, a so-called “expat” who’d landed the job through connections and whose Italian sounded like she’d learned it on a construction site. She had been green with envy ever since I was assigned the Rossi account. And now, she had gotten her way. Watching her preen, a cold fury settled in my gut. She leaned in close, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “Don’t blame me, Audrey. Blame yourself for being in the way. You think talent matters here? It’s all about who you know.” I ignored her taunt. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the termination papers. When I was done, I dropped the pen on the desk with a sharp clatter. Then I stood up and looked Jessica dead in the eye. “You can’t take what’s mine. And even if you manage to grab it, you won’t be able to hold on to it.” Without another word, I turned and walked out of that suffocating office. Behind me, I could hear Jessica’s indignant sputtering and the HR manager’s hushed whispers. As I walked down the long, empty hallway, I could feel eyes on me from every direction. I knew the rumors about me had already spread like wildfire. In their version of the story, I was a corporate spy who had tried to steal company secrets. And it was all because Peterson needed to make room for his family, and he needed a scapegoat for his own incompetence. I was the sacrifice. Stepping out of the building, I was blinded by the harsh afternoon sun. I had been cast out by my entire world. No. Just this rotten, filthy corner of it. I pulled out my phone and went through my contacts. One by one, I blocked every familiar name from the company. As of today, none of it had anything to do with me anymore. 3 Back in my rented apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa. The room was silent, save for the distant hum of traffic from the street below. The quiet felt suffocating, and for the first time, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. I’d lost my job, my reputation was in tatters, and my career felt like it had been sentenced to death with a single phone call. I opened my laptop. The cursor blinked on a blank resume template, taunting me. I couldn’t type a single word. “Top-Tier Italian Interpreter.” It felt like a joke. What company would hire someone publicly branded a traitor by their last employer? A tide of despair rose, threatening to pull me under. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Get it together, Audrey. You did nothing wrong. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sharp ring of my phone. It was an unknown number with a +39 country code. Italy. My heart hammered against my ribs. An impossible thought flickered in my mind. I took a deep breath and answered. “Pronto?” (Hello?) A polite, professional male voice replied in perfect Italian. “Good morning, am I speaking with Ms. Audrey Hale? This is Marco, Mr. Rossi’s personal assistant.” It was them. I fought to keep my voice steady. “Yes, this is she. How can I help you?” Marco’s tone was warm and sincere. “Ms. Hale, first, on behalf of Mr. Rossi, I would like to apologize for the unexpected interruption to yesterday’s meeting. That was certainly not our intention.” He continued, “Second, Mr. Rossi was incredibly impressed with your professionalism and skill. He considers you one of the finest interpreters he has ever worked with.” His words were a balm to my wounded spirit. In a world that had turned against me, this validation from a client felt like a lifeline. “Thank you,” I said, my voice a little hoarse. “I appreciate you saying that, and please extend my thanks to Mr. Rossi.” “Mr. Rossi is very keen to understand what happened yesterday,” Marco went on. “He believes a professional of your caliber would not disrupt such an important meeting without a very good reason. He was hoping to hear your side of the story directly and would like your personal contact information for future correspondence.” This was it. A chance to clear my name. I could have embellished, painting Peterson and Jessica as the villains they were, begging for Mr. Rossi’s sympathy. But I didn’t. My pride, my professionalism, wouldn’t allow it. I simply stated the facts, my voice even and objective. “During the meeting, I received a call from my company’s human resources department informing me that I was being terminated, effective immediately. I was instructed to cease all work and begin the exit process. I was as surprised as you were. The company did not provide a specific reason.” I delivered the lines without a trace of emotion, as if I were translating a legal document. There was a brief silence on the other end. I could only imagine the surprise Marco—and perhaps Mr. Rossi himself—felt at my composure. “I understand, Ms. Hale,” Marco said, a new note of respect in his voice. “Thank you for your candor. We will be in touch soon. Please take care.” After we hung up, the tension finally drained from my body. A tiny flame of hope flickered to life in the wreckage of my career. Mr. Rossi’s offer was more than just a potential job; it was the ultimate endorsement of my worth. It was proof that true talent could not be buried by lies or suppressed by petty office politics. I sat back down at my computer and deleted the blank resume. My battlefield was no longer on job boards.

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1 A year in the asylum broke me. I no longer craved my family’s love, or hated the imposter who replaced me. When my sister Scarlett came to pick me up, my blank stare seemed to enrage her. “Evan, were you stalling just to make me wait?” “If Cody hadn’t said he wanted you at his birthday, I’d have let you rot here.” I nodded. Then, as she glared in disgust, I stepped in front of a speeding car. Moments earlier, the System had told me: Obey every command, and you can return to your real family. “Are you mute? Who’s scared of that dead-eyed look?” [Host’s will to complete mission: zero. Parameters updated.] [Achieve absolute obedience. Upon death, mission complete. Reward: return to original world.] My sister’s voice and the System’s prompt overlapped. A flicker returned to my eyes. Scarlett, thinking I’d finally shown remorse, shoved a bag at me. “Change into this at the venue. What you’re wearing shames the Bates family.” Inside was an exquisite light-blue suit. My chest ached dully. She never knew I hated light blue. I’d given up on her, on this family, the day they sent me here for Cody. It was time to let go. This mission was impossible. Over the past year of torment, even the System couldn’t bear to watch. It had promised to fight for a new mission for me, begging me to hold on. It told me that when I returned to my world, not only would my adoptive mother be healed, but all my painful memories would be erased. Thankfully, it succeeded. Thank you, System. The System’s presence felt like a gentle hand on my head. [You’re welcome.] [I also visited your adoptive mother in her dreams. She’s doing well. The family of the child she saved is taking good care of her. She wants you to know she’s holding on for you, so you have to hold on too, host!] My eyes burned, a tear threatening to fall. That’s right. Mom is still conscious. She’s waiting for me. “Mom,” I whispered, my fingers clenching the bag, “I’m coming home soon.” Scarlett, who had already opened the car door, shouted impatiently, “Evan, what are you dawdling for? Do you want to die here?” “If you’re going to die, do it quickly! Don’t make me late for Cody’s birthday!” I looked up at her and nodded. For a second, she looked stunned, a flicker of regret in her eyes. “Just… just get in the car. Mom and Dad are waiting…” The next moment, I dropped the bag, turned, and threw myself in front of an oncoming truck. BANG! The screech of tires and Scarlett’s horrified scream filled my ears. This is what you wanted, Scarlett. I don’t want you, or Mom and Dad. Five years of my life, my heart, my devotion… in the end, I lost. With a gut-wrenching crash, my body was thrown into the air like a dead leaf, then slammed back onto the pavement. “Brother—!” Scarlett’s voice grew closer as I closed my eyes. My body felt weightless. Was this death? Good. I could finally go see Mom. 2 I don’t know how much time had passed. A blinding white light pierced my eyelids. The rhythmic beeping of a machine and the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant pulled me back to consciousness. I forced my eyes open to a stark white ceiling. Looking down, I saw my right leg was in a cast, my left hand wrapped in bandages. The System’s disappointed voice echoed in my mind. [Host, you were just minutes away from dying of hemorrhagic shock and leaving this world. But Scarlett Bates carried you all the way to the hospital and even gave you a blood transfusion. Ugh! What is wrong with her? She tells you to die and then saves you?] Seeing my lack of response, it quickly tried to console me. [Don’t lose hope, host. You can just die again next time. There will be plenty of opportunities.] It seemed to realize how that sounded and quickly added: [What I mean is, since the Bates family all dote on the imposter and despise you, you should make your death count. Frame that Cody kid for it! Let him know what it feels like to be falsely accused!] I nodded silently. That was a good idea. From outside the hospital room, Cody’s tearful voice drifted in. “It’s all my fault. My brother wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for me. Dad, Mom, maybe I should just leave the Bates family!” I heard my parents’ anxious replies. “This has nothing to do with you, son. He’s just not well! You’re the son we raised, and no one can ever replace you!” Scarlett’s voice joined in. “That’s right. You’re my only brother. Evan is probably just having a relapse. We should send him back to the asylum once he’s healed.” They had no idea that the place they’d sent me wasn’t a real mental hospital. It was an unlicensed, abusive facility run by a man Cody had paid off. The inhuman torture I endured was all his design. If the System hadn’t blocked my pain receptors, I would have been dead long ago. [Don’t be sad, host. Once you leave this world, I’ll make sure they find out everything that happened in that asylum.] I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Five years ago, I might have been sad. Now, I didn’t care. Five years ago, when my adoptive mother was in a car accident, the System found me. It told me I was the real heir in a “switched-at-birth” story from another world, and a cosmic error had landed me here. When it offered to take me to my real family, I begged it to save my adoptive mom. She had raised me for ten years, giving me all the love I’d ever known. After negotiating with the universe, the System agreed. [If you return and win over your biological family, making them feel remorse and love for you, you will earn the reward to heal your adoptive mother and wake her from her coma.] As much as I didn’t want to leave my mom, I agreed. Before I came here, I had dreamed a thousand times about what my real parents and sister would be like. When they held me, crying, swearing to make up for everything, I was moved. I was grateful that fate had blessed me not only with my mom’s love but now with the love of a real family. We shared the same blood. How could they not love me? But over five years, Cody’s relentless schemes turned them against me. A year ago, he staged his own kidnapping and framed me for it. And they believed him. They wanted to disown me, to throw me out. I knelt and begged, even harmed myself to prove my innocence. But with a single sentence, Cody sent me to hell. “Mom, Dad, Scarlett… my brother is just sick. We can’t blame him. Let’s just get him the help he needs, okay?” After being thrown into that asylum, my heart died completely. I saw the truth. They were not my family. My only real family was my adoptive mother. Outside the room, Cody was still crying. BAM! The door was kicked open, shattering my thoughts. “Evan, were you trying to ruin Cody’s birthday? Is that what you wanted?!” Scarlett stormed over to my bedside. Ignoring my injuries, she slapped me hard across the face. Her own face was pale; she had clearly lost a lot of blood for me. My parents rushed in after her. “Scarlett, be careful! What on earth did you say to him to make him run into a truck?” She froze, a guilty look flashing in her eyes. “I didn’t say anything! I just told him to get in the car so we wouldn’t be late for his and Cody’s birthday…” My parents’ concern for me instantly turned to cold anger. “You troublemaker! The moment you’re out, you cause chaos. Look what you’ve done to your sister and brother!” I wanted to snap back. I didn’t ask her to save me. I didn’t ask any of you to come. If I’m such a monster, why not just let me die? But the words caught in my throat. I remembered the System’s new rule: absolute obedience. I forced myself to look up, my eyes filled with manufactured guilt. “I’m sorry, Mom, Dad. It’s my fault. I’ll apologize to them right now.” With that, I yanked out my IV, grabbed the pair of scissors from the bedside table, and plunged them toward my carotid artery. 3 Squelch. Blood sprayed across my father’s face. The room erupted in screams. My mother clutched her chest, nearly fainting. Scarlett bolted out of the room, shouting for a doctor. When I woke up again, my neck was also wrapped in gauze. The doctor said I was lucky; the scissors had just nicked the artery wall. I hadn’t managed to die. Again. My parents and Scarlett stood by my bed, their expressions a complicated mix of anger and fear. They wanted to scold me, but they were afraid of setting me off again. Cody ran in, sobbing. “Mom, Dad, Scarlett… someone posted a video of brother running into the truck online. Now everyone is attacking me!” The three of them snatched his phone, their faces growing darker as they read. HEIR OF THE BATES FORTUNE DRIVEN TO SUICIDE BY IMPOSTER BROTHER! The comment section was a firestorm, with users calling Cody a manipulative monster. Some mocked my parents for being foolish enough to favor an adopted son with no blood relation. “These damn reporters!” Scarlett’s fingers flew across the screen. “I’ll clear your name. This has nothing to do with you!” My father stopped her, his face stern as he looked at me. “Evan, why don’t you make a statement yourself? Cody is innocent. You had a psychotic episode. It wasn’t his fault.” A sharp pain lanced through my heart, but I remembered the System’s words. I had to obey. If I didn’t, I would never save my mom. I would never go home. So, I smiled and nodded. “Of course, Dad. My phone was taken away, so just tell me what to say. I’ll say it to the camera.” They paused, only then seeming to remember my phone had been confiscated a year ago. On my first day in that place, I fought back against the orderlies who tried to abuse me. They electrocuted me until I collapsed, then beat me with clubs and whips for two days straight. I was given half a moldy bun for each meal and forced to drink slop water when I was thirsty. One night, I managed to steal a phone from a drunken guard and called Scarlett. Her response was a cold sneer. “Evan, it’s only been a few days and you’ve already learned how to lie?” “The doctors there were hand-picked by us. They are professionals. Why would they abuse you?” “Just behave and get the treatment you need. Fix yourself.” I cried, I begged her to get me out. But then I heard Cody’s voice in the background. “It’s all my fault brother is sick. I took his place for so many years, he has every right to hate me!” “Just let me leave the family. Bring him home! He won’t hurt anyone but me…” My parents started shouting, ordering Scarlett to hang up. “Don’t you see you’re upsetting Cody? Hang up now! And tell them to tighten their watch on him! No more phone calls!” The line went dead. After that, for stealing the phone, I was subjected to even more unspeakable torture. Even without the physical pain, the memory of their leering, monstrous faces left me with deep psychological scars. As if worried I’d pull another stunt, Scarlett simply aimed the phone’s camera at my face. “I’ll type out what you need to say. Just read it.” I nodded and did as I was told. The video statement worked. The online outrage died down. But some sharp-eyed users noticed something was off. Why is he wearing a scarf in the middle of summer? Is he injured again? Luckily, I was in the Bates Corporation’s private hospital. News of my second suicide attempt didn’t leak. My parents pulled some strings, and the public furor eventually faded. For the month I was hospitalized, I was perfectly quiet and obedient. They were pleased with my behavior and decided to take me home. At the front gate of the villa, Cody, dressed in a tailored suit and holding a bouquet of flowers, greeted me. “Welcome home, brother!” He bent down to hug me, then whispered in my ear, “You little bastard. I have plenty of ways to send you right back to that asylum.” Before I could respond, he let out a sharp cry and threw himself backward. His head hit the edge of a stone step with a sickening crack, and blood immediately started to gush. “Brother, why did you push me? I knew you still hated me…” he sobbed, his voice choked with grief. Blood streamed down his neck, staining the collar of his light-blue suit. “Evan! I knew you were faking it! You’re just as vicious as ever!” Scarlett rushed over, kicked my wheelchair aside, and cradled Cody in her arms. My father slapped me hard across the face. “You worthless thing! Apologize to your brother!” The blow knocked my head to the side. I saw a smooth, grey stone on the path. “Okay. I’m sorry.” I picked up the stone and smashed it against my own head. A hot stream of liquid ran down my face. My family stared in horror. My mother screamed, lunged forward, and snatched the rock from my hand. “You foolish child, what are you doing?! Someone call the doctor!” 4 After my head was bandaged, they wheeled me to the family luncheon. Cody cut a slice of mango cake and offered it to me. Then, he “tripped,” sending the cake flying. He burst into tears, wailing that he’d made it himself and that I was taking my anger out on his hard work. My whole family scolded me. My father ordered me to apologize. Scarlett roared, “You are going to eat every last piece of that today!” Not a single one of them remembered that I was allergic to mangoes. “I’m sorry. I’ll eat it.” I remained obedient, picking up the dirty cake from the floor and stuffing it into my mouth. After a few bites, rashes erupted across my face and arms. My throat began to swell shut. My mother gasped. “Evan, you’re allergic? Stop eating!” I was on the verge of suffocating. But they forced an anti-allergy pill down my throat. Once again, I failed to die. Scarlett looked away, her voice stiff and awkward. “Why didn’t you say you were allergic?” Why didn’t I say anything? Because five years ago, she already knew. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a quiet whisper. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” She flinched, as if the memory had finally surfaced. “You…” A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but her words remained harsh. “Don’t you know your own body? If you can’t eat something, just say so. No one is forcing you.” “Okay, sister.” My complete submissiveness convinced them that my mental illness was truly cured. They decided to throw a joint birthday party for me and Cody to dispel the public rumors and restore Cody’s reputation. The party was held at the city’s most luxurious seaside restaurant. Before we left, Cody started crying that the jewel-encrusted crown my mother had personally designed for him was missing. The whole family searched frantically, finally finding it crushed at the bottom of the trash can in my room. “Brother, if you don’t like me, I don’t have to go to the party. But why would you destroy Mom’s creation?” he wept. My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with disappointment. She took the crown she’d bought for me and handed it to him. “If you can’t stand to see Cody happy, then you don’t deserve this either. Apologize to your brother.” “I’m sorry,” I said. Again. The ballroom was filled with guests. All eyes turned to Cody as he pushed my wheelchair. He looked like a radiant prince, while I sat hunched and dull, a plain scarf still wrapped around my neck. Everyone knew about my “condition” and kept their distance. I was a broken, lonely doll, serving only as a backdrop for Cody’s brilliance. “Brother, since your legs are hurt, let me cut the cake for you, okay?” he asked gently, leaning down. I looked at the massive, multi-tiered cake, topped with two small figures of boys holding hands. I gave a small, ironic smile at the detail and nodded. Amid a chorus of birthday wishes, Cody’s hand “slipped,” and the knife sliced off the head of the figure meant to represent me. “Oh, I’m so sorry, brother! I didn’t mean to!” he cried, fumbling to fix it, only to knock a huge piece of cake onto my lap. “I’m so, so sorry…” His eyes turned red with panic. “Let me help you change. You can wear my diamond suit. It’s a gift.” It was a one-of-a-kind, custom-designed suit from Scarlett, a gift of immense value. Everyone praised Cody for his generosity and grace, a true heir of the Bates family. I instinctively started to refuse. “No, it’s fine. I can just wipe it off.” Tears instantly welled in his eyes. “Brother, does this mean you won’t forgive me?” Before I could answer, my parents and Scarlett hissed at me. “Don’t be ungrateful. Cody is giving you his most precious gift, what more do you want?” So, I obediently nodded. Cody wheeled me to a private room at the end of the hall. The moment the door locked behind us, his expression turned sinister. “You little bastard. After today, you’re going straight back to that asylum!” He clapped his hands, and several large, masked men emerged from behind a screen. My heart pounded. “What are you doing?” He threw the diamond suit on the floor, his smile venomous. “What am I doing? You’ll see…” He messed up his own hair and gave the men a signal. They moved towards us with menacing grins. I was about to scream, but they shoved me aside and started punching Cody in the face. “No! Help me!” he shrieked. The door was kicked open. Scarlett burst in, followed by a crowd of guests, just in time to see the lead thug holding a knife to Cody’s throat. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill him!” the thug yelled. He snatched the diamond suit from the floor and backed towards the window with his accomplices.

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